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moondustaeil · 5 years

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chanson gothique ; Nakamoto Yuta

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ⋅ chanson gothique

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⠀ about

⋅ genre : the little mermaid with a twist (fluff to angst). Merman to siren story.

⋅ characters : Siren!Yuta x princess!reader , some prince!Mark (arranged marriage)

⋅ word count : 8.3k

⋅ warning : Each part of the story represents a season, it has to do with creating structure and following the poem it’s based on. PART 2

⠀ ⠀

⠀ summary

⋅ Yuta always longed to see you smile. His wish was to marry you one day and walk as a human next to you for the rest of your lives. Little did he know you were a princess, destined to marry someone else. Slowly, as seasons change, so does he. Until your tears are what he longs to see.

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⠀ based on

⋅ chanson gothique by Gérard de Nerval (Eng translation down here)

⋅ Beautiful bride, I love your tears. They are the dew, which suits the flowers. Beautiful things have only one spring, let us sow roses, the steps of time. Whether she be brown or blonde, must one choose? The God of the world is Pleasure.

“I’m going to go again”

Yuta spoke out loud, his body lowering itself further into the water as the hopeful feeling disappeared. The boy lingered there for a handful of extra seconds, and he would have lingered for longer if it wasn’t for the wave of water hitting him in the face and straight into reality. You weren’t going to show up.

His body completely soaked itself in the water again, his colored tail helping him move towards the place he called home. His mind always tried to stop him from going home. His family always tried to stop him from coming here: knowing his family, he would get the daily lecture about the bond between mermaids and humans. How he was worth more than just a human.

As he swam back to where he came from, you just came running to your favorite place. The sand under your feet making it hard to be fast. Before you knew it, you had stumbled thanks to the combination of clumsiness and the sand. A small laugh left your lips as you got back to your feet, embarrassed but it would be a good story to tell Yuta.

Yuta smiled as soon as he heard the familiar giggle around him, your laugh sounded so different when he was underwater but it still sounded beautiful to him. It was the kind of sound he could identify straight away. His body made a quick turn towards the sound, swimming in that same direction. Suddenly he didn’t care anymore that you had been late, you were here now and it was all that mattered.

“Yuta!” You called out his name with a beaming smile as soon as the red hair came into your view, an inaudible sigh of relief left past your lips. You had hoped that he was still there, despite you being late, luckily you were right on time to call him back before he had left. You sat in your usual spot as you waited for him to get to the rock. As you watched him swim, you weren’t aware of the smile that was on your lips. It simply was like something magical unraveling right in front of you, and the sight was magnificent. Not because he was a merman, just because he was Yuta.

He placed his hands on the rock that you were sitting on, pushing himself up with his strength so that your conversations were able to happen alongside with looking at each other. “I nearly thought you wouldn’t come to see me today,” he said, smiling as he spoke but his words had the hidden signal that he needed to hear the opposite of his own thoughts.

You shook your head, looking at the red-haired man in front of you. “I would never ditch these moments, you know I always tell you beforehand when I can’t come,” you said. Your words were honest, both of you knew that. There rarely was a day that you didn’t pass by, when you didn’t have time, you would make sure to tell him beforehand. Little did you know, that even when you weren’t there, Yuta would always be.

“I know” Yuta answered, finally realizing how possessive the words made him sound. He couldn’t help but be a bit possessive or attached to you. Aside from being the human that he saw every day, you were so much more, so much more than you realized. His feelings went further than those of best friends did, but he had never been able to tell you. The only people who knew were his brothers and a handful of friends, those friends who wouldn’t use their mouths to let the gossip escape.

The man snapped out of his thoughts when he felt your hand going through his wet hair, his eyes closing as soon as he felt how you were carefully trying to untangle the knots with your fingers. “Have you tried the man bun I suggested?” You asked, and as you expected already, Yuta shook his head. Of course, he hadn’t tried it, it was something weird to imagine, let alone actually try it and swim around with it while others could see it. “Then it’s a good time to try it now!” You concluded.

Yuta simply never could say no to you, he was deeply in love with you, his love was as deep as the oceans he swam in. So he always said yes, yes to be able to see you smile. “Hold the hair tie” you instructed and quickly flung the little band towards him before getting to work.

You weren’t a skilled person with this profession but you knew and had seen enough to try it. Usually, it was you who was sitting on a stool in front of the vanity while others did your hair, now that tables had turned, you liked to think you had enough experience with just watching it when others did it. Though, it was hard to even do something without the professional tools.

“Do you still have that fork that you found last week?” You asked and motioned to the small bag that hung from his waist. Immediately Yuta let his hand delve into the bag, creating different sounds when the objects collided. “I got it,” he said as he pulled the silver fork from the bag, dropping it down in your opened hand.

Unlike Yuta expected, you placed the fork in the middle of his head, careful that the tines didn’t press too hard against his scalp. It was even more shocking when you started to move it in brushing motions, the tines and the gaps between them replacing a comb’s job.

It was quiet between the two of you, only a couple of small winces leaving his lips whenever the fork was combing through knots. At the same time, he felt as if it was a calming experience, especially because it was you who was doing it.

“Now we make a braid, then a bun” You explained more to yourself than to Yuta, as much as you and Yuta enjoyed playing around sometimes, the moment felt gentle. “Can I have the hair tie?” you asked, this time directing your words to Yuta. He raised up his arm until it was far enough for you to reach, and he had to smile when your fingertips grazed the palm of his hand while taking the hair tie.

Yuta’s eyes were closed as he felt your fingers through his hair, he could feel the way you were braiding it. He imagined the focused expression your face would display, making you look cuter than you probably would think yourself. His happy thoughts made some small humming sound leave his lips, within seconds it turned into humming a song.

It took a couple of minutes before the braid was finished, simply because you weren’t used to being the one who did it, but you were happy to try it out on your friend. Your fingers applied the hair tie around the bun, listening to the relaxing humming sound. Yuta’s voice had always been beautiful, especially when he was singing or whenever he spoke Japanese.

“Done” you said proudly as your fingers left his hair, instead your eyes started to examine how well you did. You concluded, even without Yuta’s opinion, that you had done a great job. As Yuta put the fork back into his bag, he fished out a little mirror next. A mirror he had gotten from you, without reason but he appreciated it.

His eyes went to the mirror, noticing it was indeed himself that he was seeing. His fingers went to his hair, but he followed every move with his eyes in the mirror. First feeling over the bangs that covered his forehead, and from that point over his head until he felt the bun and the braid underneath it. “I love it,” he said, not even realizing he couldn’t see the back, he always said yes to you and aside from that, it felt as if his confidence got a little boost.

Yuta turned towards you again and smiled, his smile making you do exactly the same thing. Many people smiled at you, everyone smiled at the princess. But their smiles weren’t genuine, they just smiled because it was respectful, just as respectful as the bows that would be exchanged. Compared to Yuta’s smile, it was a lot different. Yuta’s smile healed you from the inside, it was a genuine smile that was shared between people who had a good connection.

“I have to go soon, it’s already getting dark.” You said suddenly, trying not to show that you were late for something he didn’t know. Your eyes no longer fell to his face even if he was looking at you. You knew the fake pout he gave you, though today it would actually make you feel guilt. His hand reached to yours, gently holding it seeing he didn’t want to get your clothes wet with a hug “I will see you tomorrow, sweet dreams” he said, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressed his delicate kisses on every fingertip.

His lips lingered on the last fingertip, only pulling away when he noticed it probably was really time for you to head back home. Yet, you didn’t leave without your usual kiss on his cheek, mumbling a small ‘goodnight’ against the soft skin.

After that Yuta watched how you ran off again, into a direction that he’d never know where it would lead to. He didn’t realize how he didn’t know as much about you as you did about him. To him, you were just y/n, but he didn’t know that to the rest of the country, you were princess y/n.

He swam back to his underwater paradise, but the only paradise he was in, was in his imagination where one day, he would get to marry you.

Your mind was still on Yuta as you entered the castle, glad that no one caught you sneaking in but like probably every princess on earth, you were desperate for an escape and smart enough to make it unseen by others. The castle was too big for every part to be watched at the same time.

You took the stairs and went up to your bedroom, trying to be fast but at the same not waste any energy so that your parents wouldn’t see you out of breath in a bit. Once you were in your room, you closed the door behind you to give yourself privacy.

“Get yourself ready y/n” You spoke to yourself as you took a seat at the vanity, looking up to meet your own eyes through the reflection of the mirror. Instead of seeing yourself without makeup, you saw yourself longing to be with the red-haired merman. Yuta was always drifting around in your mind, distracting you from the life you were supposed to lead.

It took a few stimulating words to yourself before you started to work on yourself. Applying some makeup, getting dressed in a nice dress that was made for you, doing your hair which only reminded you even more of Yuta.

As much as Yuta was overwhelming your thoughts, you knew you shouldn’t call that name in the next hour. The prince that you would be accompanied with, wouldn’t appreciate such things, especially not as he could possibly be the one you were bound to marry.

Your parents never had listened when you said you weren’t interested in marrying princes from other royal families, they wanted the best for you and the kingdom. Your heart would never belong to any of those men, the man that had your heart was a child of the ocean, Nakamoto Yuta.

Once you were ready and prepared, you left your bedroom and headed downstairs where you would meet the other prince for the first time. As your schedules conflicted so much, the meeting had to be set after 9 pm, the time when both of you had time for your own things and from now on apparently each other.

“y/n! Finally, you’re here! You took so long to get ready” Your mother said as she saw you walking in the hallway. You had no idea why she was there and not in the company of your father or the parents of the prince. “I know, I was writing a letter to Sicheng. Sorry for being late” you answered with a fake smile. Your letter to your best friend Sicheng had already been sent a day ago, though that was your parents had no business or interest in.

You walked past your mother after saying that, trying to put up a fake smile as you walked into the room to meet your possible husband. If only, he was your Yuta and not some high-end prince.

The first fall morning seemed to come earlier than expected, the summery sun was less bright but it still brought you enough happiness for the rest of the day. As annoyed as you were that the sun shone through the curtains, getting up to go and see Yuta made it all worth it.

You got dressed quickly, putting on a coat over your dress so that you wouldn’t get cold. Early in the morning, it usually was cold but sadly you were occupied the rest of the day. And seeing Yuta was a priority, even if it was early in the morning when others were still laying in their warm and comfortable beds.

It was silent in the castle, it nearly made you think you were caught before you even left. Though either way, everyone was working so quietly, or no one had gotten up yet. You silently escaped, just like you did every day.

You walked towards the place where you and Yuta saw each other daily, the halfway point between your world and his. Your legs sometimes had to drag the rest of you along, which made you wonder what it would feel like to be like Yuta. He probably wondered the same but from a different perspective, you already heard him wish out loud how he wanted legs. Legs to walk around the earth with you, as if the legs would make you love him the same way as he loved you.

Then you remembered, it was better if Yuta didn’t have legs like humans did. Another friend of him, Taeyong, had been given the ability to walk for 24 hours, but it cost him his voice. That kind of scenario was something you didn’t want happening to Yuta, even if he would do it in a heartbeat if it meant being able to finally get close to you properly.

The walk took longer than it normally would, but you blamed it on the early morning for now, or maybe it was the heavy heart you were carrying around today. The silence didn’t make it better, and the closer the sound of the waves came, the more a heart-wrenching feeling started to consume you. You told yourself it wasn’t your fault, even though you weren’t sure if you were sorry because you couldn’t spend time with Yuta or because behind his back, you were meeting yet another man who was added to the line-up of possibly getting married to you.

“Y/n”

You looked up at the voice of Yuta sounding just loud enough to overpower the waves. Your eyes went to the water in front of you, searching for the bright red hair, the signature mark of the man you loved. Instead of being in the water, where he truly belonged, he was sat on the rock that you would normally take your place on.

The pace of your steps increased a bit as soon as you saw him like that, it was a rare sight even though you had seen him like that before. Though it usually was something he only did whenever it would rain, so that he didn’t run out of his need for water that fast. But today, he was willing to try and survive like this, to show you that he wanted to adjust his life for you.

“It’s cold Yuta, get back in the water” you said and slightly pushed his bare shoulder as a sign that he should get back to the blue transparent water, which probably was cold to you but it was like a warm home to him. His skin had tiny goosebumps forming an extra layer as a sign that the air was too cold for him. But Yuta wouldn’t be Yuta if he wasn’t a tiny bit stubborn. He just hummed before he shook his head, as a final answer and also the first time he ever told you no, simply because he wanted to prove a point to you this time.

You let out a soft sigh at his reaction and took off your coat, luckily your arms were still covered with the sleeves of the dress. You wrapped your jacket around his shoulders so that he at least could keep himself the slightest bit warm. As silly as it probably was looking, Yuta felt warm, not on the outside, but on the inside, his heart was swelling with overflowing love for you.

The two of you sat next to each other like that for a couple of minutes, only moving when Yuta rested his head on your shoulder and you rested your head on top of his. He was the one who broke the silence first, first with a breath, then with his voice. “Where are you going today?” He asked you.

You glanced at him as you were taken back by the question you feared the most at this moment, at the same time you were grateful that his eyes weren’t focused on you. The silence was short as you came up with an answer.

“My parents wanted to get me one of those dresses that exactly fit. So we have to go and measure me, after that we will go for dinner” you said quickly, not telling the complete truth but there was no lie in it either. The measurements were something that didn’t take hours, but the meeting with yet another man probably would.

Your words didn’t sound like the perfect lie, simply because you had wanted to be honest, but your heart and mind for once worked together to stop Yuta from possibly getting hurt. Yuta slowly turned his head, his eyes on you for a couple of moments and he managed to even smile at you. He fell for your poor excuse. “That sounds boring” he said, pretending to yawn.

The fake yawn made a smile appear on your lips, the natural cuteness he had, the healing smile he gave you. It had an unexplainable effect on you, it made you forget that you were breaking your own and his heart, even if you weren’t sure if his heart belonged to you.

“It actually is boring” You said but were quick to realize your mistake, how could you know if it was boring if you had to act like you had never done those things before. “At least that’s what I’m assuming” you added. It was boring, very boring and a waste of time. The time you’d waste there, was a time you would have liked to spend with Yuta.

Yuta hummed in response, trying to imagine what it would be like to wear clothes, real clothes and not like the coat that was hanging over his shoulders. Clothes that you were wearing, but in a male form of them instead. He never questioned it before, and now that he thought about it, he noticed you almost always would wear something beautiful, expensive-looking materials in unique colors.

He turned his head away again to rest it properly onto your shoulder like he did before. His eyes closed as he felt peaceful. The moment felt even more special when he could feel your hand running through the strands of half-wet hair on his head.

It was your eyes who first caught sight of the slight change in his hair, the usual bright red seemed just a tad darker, and you didn’t need a color scheme to prove it. Red was red, but there were millions of reds, and neither of them actually were alike if you really paid attention. Though you noticed, you didn’t question it, and thought it was because the seasons had changed.

“I miss you and our usual time already” Yuta suddenly said, by the tone in his voice, it was clear how genuine he was. After all, Yuta would be back tonight, just being there while you weren’t. At the end of his day, you remained in his heart.

The confession made you hum in agreement, you understood the way he felt because you already missed him too. The two of you were attached to one another, and the daily rendezvous was something that grew on the two of you like it was the most uplifting moment of the day. “I know,” you said quietly.

Suddenly Yuta started to hum, something that sounded like a song, one that you had never heard before. Not that you heard many songs, as a radio was something the castle lacked, and your parents didn’t miss. The music that you heard, probably sounded like a golden trash can compared to the music that was played nowadays. Though that didn’t mean that you didn’t enjoy the man next to you humming.

You were aware that Yuta probably didn’t own a radio either, but you weren’t aware of the fact that Yuta liked to make up his own songs. It was weird how you weren’t aware of it, even after hearing him sing and hum so many times. The pieces in your mind simply didn’t puzzle together yet.

As he hummed the unfamiliar song, time passed by, the time you had lost the sight of. Time went slow or even stopped when you were with Yuta, yet it was as if the time you spent together passed by faster than any other part of your day. You don’t know what amount of minutes passed by, time was non-existent.

“Don’t you have to go soon?” Yuta asked a while after his humming ended, he mostly was asking because he was feeling dehydrated and probably would have to get back into the water before anything dangerous happened. He didn’t want to go but was nearly forced to by his own body.

You looked up at the sky as if the sky would give you an answer, but the less cold air was what made you realize a lot of time had probably passed by already. “I do” you said hastily and stood up, causing Yuta’s head to drop slightly as it had been resting upon your shoulder the entire time.

When you realized what you did, you leaned down and rapidly pressed your lips to the first piece of skin they found. The space between his cheek and lips, something you didn’t realize the moment it happened. The connection of your bodies ended a second after it started. You stood up straight again and without further spoken words, ran off to start the worst part of your day.

Yuta missed you the moment you left, the warmth that had spread around his body when you were there was gone, even with your coat hanging from his shoulders.

As Yuta sat there in silence for a few spare minutes, he took the sleeves of the coat and felt the fabric between his fingers. It felt so gentle, just like he remembered the way your lips felt against the last bit of cheek skin he had before his lips started. He took another look at the coat, it would be a shame if he took it in the water with him. The water would remove the scent of you, thus he decided to leave your coat on the rock, and each passing hour he came back to check if the coat was still there. Though, maybe it was more like a way for him to check if you really weren’t going to show up again today.

“Traditional white would be good, don’t you think? Princess y/n?”

You were snapped back into reality when you heard your name being called out by a voice you had been hearing a bit too much in the past couple of months. You gave a fake smile towards the designer who would take care of your wedding dress but forgot to answer for a bit. It wasn’t as if they genuinely cared anyway, as she even thought your fake smile meant yes.

Now that you were back to reality, you didn’t even remember what your zoned-out moment consisted of. Maybe it was the long talk you had with Sicheng yesterday, or maybe it was how now that winter started, you hadn’t seen Yuta once. Or it could be about yourself, how you had been letting everything build up, you regretted that this story was going to have its climax at once, if you had been honest then nothing would have gone this way.

While the designer was quickly putting together the sketches she had prepared, you got up and slowly walked over to the window. Yuta’s home seemed so far away and yet close, just like how the line of water seemed short but endless at the same time. You imagined the sound of the waves as you looked at the water, and a sad smile appeared on your lips once your imagination gave you a snippet of Yuta’s healing smile right in front of your eyes.

Another zoned out moment ended when you felt a hand being placed upon your shoulder. Your gaze went towards other parts of the outside world, but your mind stayed at the same place. “y/n. Prince Mark wants to know if you would be interested in taking a walk today, as he hasn’t been anywhere other than the castle” one of the maids, or as you called them assistants said to you. You turned back to her, obviously hesitating about your answer.

“I actually promised to meet up with someone else” You said soft, preferring your Yuta over Prince Mark who you barely knew, even if he seemed like a really nice person so far. You’d expected the maid to inform your parents about your plans, but instead, she smiled and nodded her head. “Go and see him, I will tell the king and queen you are sick in bed tonight” she said before she walked off to tell Mark the unfortunate news.

Your eyes fell to the designer who didn’t catch any of the things you had been saying to the maid, the designer seemed to busy trying to put together everything she had made into a neat whole. It wasn’t as if it mattered what you thought, there was a big chance your parents would make that decision for you.

All of the things that had been settled so far were decided by your parents: how your wedding would be in the summer, the location, what would happen after the wedding. Instead of you writing chapters for the life you were supposed to start up alone, it was your parents who wrote out the words for you and you just had to publish them.

“Princess y/n, the designs are ready to be seen”

A muttered ‘okay’ left your lips as you headed back to your seat, your figure slumping in the seat. You didn’t feel the energy or need to go through with this idea, you wished you could protest against it, but it would make things worse.

As the designer started to show you every sketch and explained about the dresses that she had drawn, you only paid half of your attention to her, the other half probably was lost somewhere once again. Then again, the drawings itself were more interesting than what she was telling about them. You hoped for Prince Mark that he had a designer who didn’t feel the need to put an explanation behind everything.

“Can I just see the sketches myself, please” You requested and held out your hand to receive the sketches, aside from of the verbal waterfall, you simply wanted to decide a dress based on your likings, not on the history of wedding dresses.

The designer rapidly nodded and handed over the sketches to you, you were already happy her voice wasn’t used for a couple of seconds. You wanted silence, even if silence brought your thoughts to things that you shouldn’t think about.

As your eyes judged the wedding dresses, you couldn’t imagine wearing one of them, for the simple reason that you couldn’t imagine yourself getting married. At least not to Mark, the two of you had barely been engaged for two short days, and in those days he didn’t get down on his knee in front of you. It had been decided by your parents and his parents.

You looked at one of the dresses, remembering that was what they called a mermaid wedding dress just because the word immediately reminded you of Yuta. Without having a truthful opinion on any of the dresses, you just pointed your finger at the mermaid dress and got up. The designer knew your choice now. You had completed your task of choosing a wedding dress, now you could leave again and do your own thing.

The hallway was quiet, you could only hear another pair of footsteps wandering around, though it didn’t get to your mind how they sounded different than those of your mother or the ones from the people who worked in the castle. “Princess! I did not think I’d see you here” you heard, which made you look up to where the still unfamiliar voice came from.

Then you saw Prince Mark who was halfway down the stairs, probably wondering through the castle because he wanted to get to know the place or he was looking for something. “I’ve been told you were sick, but my knocks on the bedroom door were unanswered,” he said, the formal tone was something you still had to get used to, you bet the man didn’t even speak like that in real life. He probably was young enough to know slang.

“I am sick, but my parents expected me to choose a dress today. Princess duties before y/n duties. I guess that’s why they say ‘in sickness and health’ when you get married” you said, giving the prince a slight smile as he came down the last steps of the staircase. He gave you a smile back, it seemed as if his smile told you how he was sorry for you that your parents were like that. “Then you should head to your room, princess. Rest well and recover soon” he spoke, he moved in to kiss your cheek, but before that could happen, you were already up to the stairs and on the way to your room.

As soon as you could, you shut the bedroom door behind you, you just didn’t want anyone passing by your room today. As good as the excuse of being sick was, it also meant heaps of people would try to get to you so that they could wish you a fast recovery or offer you some things that could act as an offer so that the sickness would pass. As long as your parents didn’t stand by your door, everything was going to be fine.

You got a small bag and stuffed it full with the objects you had collected from fall until now, objects that Yuta probably had an interest in since they weren’t exactly up to date underwater. Maybe it was a kind of sorry gift, to apologize for not letting him know you would be gone for a couple of days, for not showing up on the days he expected you to come.

After you got the objects in the bag, you got yourself dressed in warmer clothing, something suitable for the cold winter weather outside your castle. You took your time to get yourself ready because you were dreading the things that you and Yuta would say to each other. Perhaps the judging and disappointed look that Yuta would have in his eyes. You would rather lie in bed and cry than seeing those things, but at the same time you badly wanted to see Yuta, and him being disappointed was nothing but fair so you’d have to put up with it.

Half an hour later, you had arrived at the place you had missed in the past couple of days. The wind was raw as if it hit you in the face for you to finally tell Yuta the truth. Lately, Yuta and telling the truth had been a dangerous thought in your mind. Yet, you weren’t courageous enough to do so, no matter how much he deserved honesty.

You heard a soft voice singing, it was nearly as if the voice was far away, fading into the sound of the wind. The lyrics were things you didn’t pay attention to, the voice seemed to draw you in like you sometimes got pulled into dreams. Your boots left slight footprints in the frozen sand, the trail going into the same direction as the voice.

“Yuta”

The owner of the godly voice looked up when he heard his name being called, by the person he loved so much. y/n, the girl he would give his life for, the girl with the most beautiful smile ever.

A last Japanese lyric left his lips as the song had ended with that, a heart-wrenching sigh pushing itself past his lips. Through that, his eyes never lost sight of you.

It was as if you hadn’t seen Yuta in a long time even if in reality it had only been a couple of days. Maybe it was the change in Yuta that made it seem as if you two were distant friends who saw each other only once or twice a year.

The man ran a hand through his hair, and that was when you were able to put a label on the biggest change. What started with bright red, through fall became a darker shade of red, now became what was dark red and black roots had appeared as if the red color was growing out.

He didn’t speak one word, it was as if he was frozen due to the bad weather conditions or due to the shock of you re-entering his life after days. So, you set the first step towards him. The bag clutched in your hand as you put it down as close to him as it would go with the distance between the two of you. “It’s for you” you said, trying to show him a smile, in hopes you’d get one back.

Yuta didn’t return your smile at that time, making your lips curve slightly downward without realizing it. “Thanks,” he said, it was the only moment his lips seemed to move into an upward curve, but it didn’t happen, it stopped before you even had the chance to get your hopes up for the second time.

“It’s to apologize for not being here the past few days” You added again, hoping to get more than just one word out of him this time, if you were allowed to expect more then you expected for him to forgive and forget it. It was all you wanted at this moment. “So I’m sorry”

You looked up at Yuta, your eyes meeting his to show that your eyes didn’t lie about how sorry you were. His eyes were harsh at first sight, but the healing spark made its appearance when you least expected it to.

“Don’t be sorry” He said and smiled his usual healing smile, if his healing smile could heal your broken promises then you’d be forever grateful but knew that only you had the solution to the problems you created.

Through the time you’d been spending with Yuta, the worries and troubles were forgotten for a little while. It was the two of you talking about small nothings, checking out the objects you had gotten him, hearing him tell some underwater adventures, simple but distant hand-holding as Yuta didn’t want you to get wet and sick because of it.

No matter how good it felt to be back around Yuta, you felt how things about him seemed to change. His way of talking stayed the same, but humming turned into singing more, and the way his hair sometimes seemed to get darker was something that concerned you. Did he have any merman abilities that you didn’t know of?

The colorful flowers bloomed in the garden you walked through with your fiance, both of you looking at either side of the path to see what kind of flowers were suitable for at the wedding. There was a decent amount of distance between the two of you as you walked, unlike the flowers, things between you and Prince Mark weren’t blooming yet.

From time to time Mark questioned if you liked a certain flower when you bent down to take one from the many possibilities, but in reality, you were collecting them in a small bouquet to give them to Yuta. Real flowers didn’t grow underwater, and it was something that possibly could fascinate him. You at least remembered the day he tried to put a yellow flower in his hair, back when his hair was still as bright as the red color of velvet.

“Did you ever love someone before, y/n?”

The question was a surprising one but at the same time, it was one you expected much sooner than this day. With Mark, you decided to be honest, even if he didn’t know about Yuta’s existence. “Of course I did, I just never learned if he loved me too,” you said, you were sure you sounded broken when you said it. You did love Yuta starting a long time ago, and you still loved him right at this moment, your love wasn’t something that parents would usually call a phase in the life of a young person.

“Me too. Although, my parents weren’t fond of her social position in the country. So before I properly got a chance to love her, it was already time for me to move on” he admitted sadly, you could hear by the tone that it was something that still hurt him on the inside. Love was something painful, at the same time it was one of the most wonderful things in the world. Love was something no one would understand.

The honesty in the conversation did you well, indirectly being able to confess everything that had been going on was like a part of weight falling from the heavy heart you carried along. Also, the small similarities made it easier for both of you to understand each other. It was one of the reasons you got along with Mark, because of the friendly bond that you two had built up.

You held onto the self-created bouquet of flowers as the walk continued, even though both of you were looking at the flowers, neither of you said something about them fitting your wedding. Both of you seemed to be in your own thoughts, sometimes sharing them through things that seemed to work like telepathy.

Looking for flowers at your wedding took another couple of hours, it took long because neither of you cared or wanted to care. When you got back from the long day, you were still on time to see Yuta. Seeing him again was something you looked forward to. Sometimes you caught yourself not going, even when your schedule was empty all day long, not because you had Mark now, but because Yuta deserved something better than what you did. You would be lying to yourself if you said that you had seen Yuta recently, because you didn’t. The last time was two weeks ago.

You were clothed in a spring dress when you went to your usual meeting spot, you had taken off your shoes to feel the cold sand beneath your feet, a feeling you enjoyed after not being able to do so through the cold weathered seasons. Unlike when it was winter, it was still light at this time of the day, more people were outside, the mood would be a lot better.

In your hand was the little bouquet of flowers you had put together for the man you loved, even though an engagement ring from another guy was shining around one of your fingers.

“Yuta? Are you there?” you asked as you dropped the flowers and your shoes onto the sand. Ready to give him a hug as soon as you saw him. Your eyes examined the scene around you, your goal to find Yuta amongst the people around you. Even if you knew it was impossible because Yuta didn’t have legs to walk on the earth with. You looked at everyone, but no one looked back at you. Three people were in the same place as you were: two older-looking women that were talking and a young man with longer black hair who sat on the rock you usually would occupy.

No Yuta.

The rough waves cried for you, even though they didn’t wash your sadness away. It was as if the waves cried so you didn’t have to. The man that you loved had given up on you, you lost him because of your mistakes. You weren’t disappointed in him, just in yourself. You left the beach as quick as you had arrived, your hope left in the water as sadness took its place in your heart.

The rest of the evening was spent in your bed, your excuse of feeling sick no longer seemed like an excuse. You weren’t feeling ill, you were left with a heart that could never heal again, a heart that no one could mend. Yuta became an obsessive thought in the past hours, everywhere you could see, feel and hear him. But never, was he actually there.

The unexpected vocals of him made you open your eyes, the Japanese song that you’d heard before, only this time it had English lyrics, yet the lyrics were so poetical that you had no idea of the meaning behind them. The voice seemed so real and it was almost as if it was trying to appeal something to you.

You had to go and see for yourself.

Your nightdress still covered up your body, nothing aside from going to see Yuta was in your mind. The window you usually would escape from was ignored, you just walked past it like it never had been the right way to go. Tonight you weren’t escaping, you were leaving. And left all of the doors wide open behind you.

Yuta’s sweet voice seemed even louder when you were outside, now it was clear that he was actually there and it wasn’t just your mind playing tricks on you. Your feet dragged the rest of your body along with them, your mind was seemingly put to rest. You didn’t know if your heart was taking the lead, or you were controlled by something else.

On the beach, it was only you and who appeared to be the same young man who sat there in the early evening as well. He was facing the water, his body so still that it was as if he was a real-life sculpture. Your bare feet stepped closer to him, and with each step you took, the voice seemed a bit closer.

His head turned when you had taken the last step towards him. Your eyes raised to his face, revealing how the young man wasn’t just a random stranger, it was the man who you deeply loved.

“Yuta”

Your whisper was almost inaudible, yet it interrupted him as you could see it by his eyes. The voice that he controlled grew more powerful, it was like it even got the force to push you and make you land on your knees right next to the rock.

Yuta was no longer who you expected him to be, the merman you loved was gone. The once bright red hair was now completely black, the colorful tail had changed into one of red and black. His fins that had been beautifully defined before, seemed damaged and uncared for. The sight of him was something you were forced to look upon, controlled to only look at him even if it hurt you on the inside. You turned him into this creature.

“Beautiful bride” He started once he was done singing, in this conversation, it was he who talked, it was he who had control over you. All you could do was listen as if your lips were sealed together, unable to part them. He let out a soft sigh, his eyes never leaving you and your eyes never leaving him.

Yuta twirled his black hair around one of his fingers as a small silence played. Reality hit you at that moment: he found out that you were engaged and a part of the royal family. “You took all of the steps of time, but you see what happens when you don’t have steps left” He spoke, the corner of his lips twitched up for a small moment to resemble a smirk. “You fall” he added.

“Get up” He ordered and motioned his finger for you to come to him, closer to him. At last, your body was able to move although it seemed to be under control of Yuta just like every sense of yours. Your steps went towards him, standing in the water to get to the rock and be close to him like he made you be. It was the same way you’d stand when the two of you met up in the early days when you’d meet: him in the water as you sat on the rock

His hand reached out to your face, his hand collided with the skin of your right cheek in a gentle way. The skin to skin contact giving him more control than he already had. His fingertips stroked over your soft skin for a handful of seconds, it was so delicate and made you believe he was still a good person. His long fingers unexpectedly gripped your chin between them, raising your head so that you were forced to look into his eyes.

The beautiful brown eyes he used to have were gone and it took two looks before you realized heterochromia made both of his eyes different. Both eyes intense, neither of them gave off the gentleness the brown eyes used to give you. The bright red eye reminded you of the hair he used to have, the black eye was like a black hole you could drown into any moment.

His body moved from the big rock, back into the water. Unlike you, he didn’t feel the water that came along with the chilly spring night. The closer he got to you, the less safe you felt and yet this time you were the one who wouldn’t be able to say no to him.

“Can I kiss you? One last time” He asked, his words much more gentle than the way his eyes looked at you or his fingers held your chin in place. Your body only allowed you to nod, you didn’t know if you would have given the same answer if you actually had more than one option.

Yuta’s lips touched yours a second after he asked. Just like the water would touch the sand for the first time in the morning, it was gentle and calm, almost healing you like his abilities did many times before. The first kiss with the love of your life, words you still went by, because he was the love of your life. Even in this situation.

The moment was heart-wrenching and healing synchronously, the raw emotion was irreplaceable. One lonely tear escaped through the corner of your eye, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Yuta.

The kiss broke off the moment Yuta laid eyes on the small tear trickling down your cheek. His lips formed into a smile, different than the healing ones he had usually given you. It was adoration, going hand in hand with an unsafe feeling. But you couldn’t do anything.

“I love your tears” He said in a muted tone, almost whisper-like. His thumb hovered over your cheek just in time to stop the tear from rolling down further. The words conflicted with the compliments about your smile that he would always give you. “They could be the dew on the flowers you gifted me.”

The sounds of the water confirmed that he was moving around, and your eyes no longer saw him. Your eyes were opened but all you could see was the dark water, and looking at something else was not an option. Your hearing sense picked up Yuta’s soft singing voice again, the earlier English lyrics had once again transferred to Japanese again.

A hand wrapped around your ankle, the grip was immensely tight. Your other leg trying to move the hand away from your ankle, but it was no use. You had to escape even if you had no chance to, you escaped many times before, from many things. Suddenly a harsh tug on your ankle pulled you along under the water.

The last thing you saw were the eyes of the man you loved,

The last thing you heard was the voice of the love of your life,

“beautiful things only have one spring”

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starblazerm31 · 4 years

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Apprentice April Asks #1 Azalea/Imalia

Here are my answers to my Apprentice April Asks #1. Thanks so very much to @leis-main-blog and @verysoftthings for sending me asks! I honestly wasn’t expecting it. ^^; I tend to write books about these two, so I made a separate post.

1. The Basics. What is your character's name? How old are they? How tall are they? Skin color? Eye color? Hair color? Gender identification?

Azalea Larinya Nevra. 30, female. 5'6"; medium skin tone; eyes blue with gold around the pupils; hair aqua to coral ombre; medium length

Imalia Vilyana Gabriev. 36, female. 5'10"; fair skin tone; eyes crimson; hair brown with burgundy ends; very long (art by @carowhitewolf)

2. Love Interest. Who does your character love? What attracted them to that particular LI?

Julian/Lucio (different universes).

Julian - she loved how kind he was, and she adored his bumbling. She was compelled to help him because his cause was right. He couldn't be guilty, he was too much of a good man. She really wanted to help him with his own inner demons as well because he didn't deserve to suffer, even at his own hand. That glorious chest didn't help either, lol.

Lucio - she thought he was overall adorable. Yeah, he was hot as hell, but it was his personality that got her heart thumping. He really was brave and skilled, and she had a feeling that not many others had appreciated it much. Yeah, he had done some horrendous things; but Azalea could see the actual changes happening in him and she knew that he had hope.

Asra. She had known Asra since she was 15 and he was 8. They had a good 20 year friendship and she knew him very well. She fell for him when that friendship veil lifted after the events of The Arcana story and she finally really noticed how beautiful he was. "He's smart, kind, talented, awesome...AND hot?! THE WHOLE PACKAGE?! I'm such an idiot..."

3. Familiar. Does your character have a familiar? How did they meet?

Corva, a white raven. She met Corva when Malak led her to an alley where Corva was lying on the ground with a broken wing. Azalea nursed Corva back to health, and Corva refused to ever leave. (image c. Mike Yip)

Balthazaar, a phoenix. Balthazaar was one of the phoenixes in the magical menagerie at the University of Prakra. He was ornery, and the handlers had a hard time with him. Imalia liked how stubborn he was and over time developed a rapport and closeness with him. The university allowed her to claim him as her familiar and take him home. (image c. Kiss Clip Art)

4. Hobbies. What kinds of things does your character like to do for fun?

Parquor. She loves running around, slipping up buildings, jumping over rooftops and sliding down poles. XD She's a very high-energy person and parquor keeps her healthy and mentally sharp. She also enjoys writing. She will write on just about anything that has her attention at the moment. Magical theory is one of her favorite subjects, but she does enjoy writing fiction.

Her hobby...is harassing bandits. She gets perverse joy out of robbing robbers blind. If she can find the original owners of things that were stolen...awesome. If not...hey, this is an ancient Drakrian fertility statue! I'm gonna put this on my shelf at home. Oh, and leaving off-color messages in ancient languages in ruins. "Here I sit all broken-hearted..."

5. Hidden talents. Is there something neat that your character can do? Tie a cherry stem into a knot with their tongue? Say any word backwards perfectly?

Azalea is kinda like Sherlock Holmes. She can look at a person and form their entire story in her mind. She never uses it against someone; she just uses it to be more friendly. But if you're annoying her and won't go away...she will scare you with what she has figured out about you.

Imalia secretly loves to sing and isn't terrible at it. She's one of those people who will sing in the bath, and if someone mentions it, she acts like it didn't happen.

6. Magical talents. Is there a specific type of magic that your character excels at? Any magic they aren't so great at? Or do they actually shy away from magic altogether?

Lightning. She's good at conducting the currents and utilizing its explosive capabilities. She also uses lightning as a personal shield while in battle. She is also really good at enchanting things; like her hair. She makes enchanted dreamcatchers that actually catch nightmares. Both Julian and Lucio appreciate this ability. (Lucio's dreamcatcher needs to be cleansed more often than Julian's)

Fire and Darkness. Imalia is in tune with fire and is extremely good at using it to its fullest potential; absolute destruction. As for the darkness...that will be explained in number 12.

7. Interaction. How does your character typically interact with people?

She is very polite, but not overly so. She tries to come off as someone you can actually have a conversation with. Sometimes if she's feeling nervous, she will go into overly-polite mode, but if the vibe starts to feel calmer, she will loosen up. She is very energetic and sometimes hyper with her friends.

She is ingratiating and very proper until you piss her off. Then you get things like "Why don't you get a horse, move up to the mountains, and don't bother anybody? You have the personality of a dead moth." (RIP Don Rickles) With friends, she's very laid back and frank with what she says.

8. Romance. What is something that your character and their LI love to do together? How do they show affection?

Azalea x Julian - They LOVE to read together. They have spent hours cuddled up together over a good book. Azalea shows Julian affection with gentle touches, kisses, and koala hugs. (she really loves how tall he is) She also makes sure he eats and gets plenty of rest. More than once, she has brought him dinner to his clinic while he was working late.

Azalea x Lucio - They love to spar. They are so different in fighting style that sparring really helps them improve their skills. Also, the prize at the end for the winner is quite nice. ^_~ Azalea shows Lucio affection by listening to him and holding him. She also likes to try to out kiss him. He reaches for her hand, she spins away and plants two on his cheek instead.

Imalia and Asra love to travel the Magical Realms together. They get into really long and in-depth conversations about the things they see and experiment with how their willpower affects the realm around them. Imalia shows affection by constant words of praise and sneaky touches and kisses. The more she can surprise him, the better. She also keeps a hefty supply of Lapsang Souchong tea at her estate for him and loves giving him little trinkets and things she has found on her travels.

9. Travel. Does your character like to travel outside of Vesuvia? How often? For how long? What kinds of things do they do away from home?

Yes. She loves to see more of the world and meet new people and see different cultures. She will travel maybe once every year or two. When traveling, she will typically stay away for 1-2 months. She loves adventure, but she does love her home more. Azalea loves to learn new types of magic or new methods of spellcasting from different cultures. She finds that certain techniques make her own magic stronger.

Definitely. She herself is originally from the northern hemisphere, so travel isn't something new to her. She gets wanderlust sometimes and has to get out into the world. She will be gone typically for six months when she decides to travel. She has been gone for three years before. She HAS to investigate old ruins wherever she goes. Who knows that treasures or knowledge lay inside? She must find out!

10. WTF. Has anything just...weird ever happened to your character? Something that made them stop and go "What just happened?!"

She was trying to brew a potion that would allow the drinker to become a mermaid for a short while. She ended up spilling it on a plant before it was done. The plant sprouted tiny muscular hairy legs and arms, stood up, walked to the window, shook its fist at her, and jumped out. Turns out she had forgotten a key ingredient in the early stages of brewing the potion. Mazelinka made fun of her for a solid week.

One time, she and a rival mage were about to have a battle. Right before they were to begin, this strange fellow wearing a sentient red cape fell from the sky and landed in between them. He promptly stood to his feet, apologized for the intrusion, and left. (Yes...I do mean Doctor Strange fell from the sky)

11. Crime. Has your character ever been arrested? If so, what did they do? Have they ever helped stop a crime?

She has never been arrested, however, she is guilty of petty larceny. It's not something she does often...just when some jerk needs to be taught a lesson. They always get their stuff back, but she will make sure they are thoroughly inconvenienced. She has stopped another thief before. The thief took the purse of an elderly individual who was trying to buy food. Azalea scaled up to the rooftops and cut the thief off, holding him down until the guards caught up and arrested him. She gave the money back to its owner.

Yep. She's been arrested plenty of times. Usually for assault and/or destruction of property. Hey, that jerk deserved to have his carriage set on fire. She has stopped several assassination attempts on her cousin, Queen Dreen Suval of Seiruun. She has also stopped dark plots at the Magical University in Prakra.

12. Secrets. What is a secret your character has? Are they in line for the throne in a far off land? Was there this one time at band camp...? Are they secretly involved in an assassin's guild?

Azalea secretly writes smut. She loves it. And her actual hair color is gray. The aqua-coral is an enchantment.

Imalia actually is in line for the throne of Seiruun; second in line, to be exact. But she HATES this. It's why she continues to live in Vesuvia rather than her home country. Imalia is also no longer entirely human. During an adventure that went terribly wrong, she summoned the Lord of Nightmares while inside the Magical Realms. (The Lord of Nightmares or "Lon" is an eldritch goddess) Lon then proceeded to implant herself inside Imalia. Lon is a being of pure darkness and nightmare, so Imalia has control over darkness when she taps into Lon's power. Through some creative wording, the contract between the two of them allows Imalia to use Lon's power and form when she needs to; however, Imalia is forever plagued by terrible nightmares that not even Azalea's dreamcatchers can stop. The dreamcatchers just catch on fire.

13. Overcompensation. Is there something that your character just HAS to do better than anyone else? Or are they just that dang good without trying? If they see someone else showing off, what is their kneejerk reaction?

She's actually quite humble. If she sees someone showing off, she really just concerns herself with their safety. "Please don't be careless and die, please!" But she IS gifted. Her magic is insanely strong, she just doesn't like to make a big deal out of it. She gets embarrassed.

She is the best in the room, and you'd better damn well know it. Unless she respects you. Then she will tone it down. But if she sees a showoff...she's got to mess with them. She's got to show them that they aren't all that and a bag of chips.

14. Fight Club. Is your character a good fighter? What kind of skills do they have?

She's pretty decent. Her attack magic is awesome, but her physical fighting mainly relies on how quick and squirmy she is. Her punches hurt, but they don't incapacitate.

She can fight pretty damn well. Her father made sure of it after most of her family was killed by assassins (it does sometimes really suck to be royalty). She is a heavy hitter and her intent is to end a fight with one strike. It doesn't always work, but hey...second, third, maybe fourth time is the charm. Or maybe you should just blow it the hell up.

15. The Arts. Is your character a creative type? What kinds of things can they create? Can they act? Street perform?

She is. Like mentioned earlier, she writes and makes dreamcatchers; she also gets into stage acting with Julian (when he's her LI). She's not a solo performer though. She has to be in a troupe or else she gets massive stage fright.

She can draw very well, almost photo-realistically. She mainly uses this skill for documentation when she's studying something. But every great once in a while she will draw a political cartoon making fun of some noble. Once she drew a penis on the face of one of Lucio's statues. He snapped back "I'd never put something that small in my mouth!" She retorted by drawing a full body penis on a different statue. It got misinterpreted by many townspeople as "Hey, look! Lucio is a dick!!"

16. Goofy. Is your character a clown? Do they like to make people laugh?

She does. She doesn't see herself as funny, but when she slips in something humorous into whatever she's talking about it usually takes whoever is listening by surprise. Spit your drink kind of humor.

YES. She has such a strange way of speaking sometimes that you can't help but snort at the things she says. Yes, it is entirely on purpose. She loves to crack jokes and has a self-deprecating sense of humor at times. She will also be hilariously over-confident as well.

17. Language. Is your character multilingual? How many languages do they speak? Do they have an accent? Is it sexy? Is it silly? Do they have the multilingual lisp?

No. She only speaks her native language.

Yes. Imalia speaks ten different languages. In her normal language, she doesn't have a multilingual lisp; but in about four of her other languages, she does. It drives her nuts, but she just can't seem to fix it.

18. Embarrassment. What is something really embarrassing that your character has done/said?

Azalea can't remember this, because it's part of the memories she lost. But Imalia remembers. One time she was going to meet one of the magisters of the Magical University of Prakra to see if she would be accepted. She spent weeks preparing how to introduce herself. On the day of, she mentioned how excited she was to meet Magister Asshole. Imalia blinked and said, "It's pronounced Ah-shole."

One time she said something quite rude about Lucio in front of Azalea (when Lucio is Azalea's LI). Azalea proceeded to tear her a new rectum, claiming that for someone so smart, she was incredibly closed-minded.

19. Memory. Has your character gotten any of their memory back? If so, what? Did it change them?

No. She insists that she doesn't want her memories back because she likes who she is now. She gets the important information from Asra and Imalia...her parents’ and aunt's names, what they were like, and how they died. That's all she feels that she needs.

*looks at me* "I'm exempt from this question. I'm your OC, not your MC." *walks out*

20. Family. Talk about your character's family. Who were they?

Her mother (Etoile) and father (Galen) were traveling merchants. Her mother was the one with magical talent. Her mother's sister (Sylvaine) owned the shop and taught Azalea most about magic. When Azalea was 13, her parents were robbed and killed by bandits just outside of Vesuvia. She lived with Sylvaine until she died of pneumonia when Azalea was 20.

Imalia's father was Vitalric Gabriev and her mother was Narsial Trevallan. When Imalia was 14, her father's family (the Sairuun royal family) were murdered by assassins sent by a rival country. Only Vitalric (and Narsial), Imalia, Vitalric's older brother Rhemun and his daughter Dreen survived. Rhemun and Dreen remained in Seiruun to run the place while Vitalric and his family moved to Vesuvia as a failsafe in case there were other assassination attempts. Vitalric started studying to become a doctor, while Narsial started grooming Imalia to wed into a noble family. Narsial was extremely abusive. Long story short, King Rhemun died of a hunting injury, and both of Imalia's parents died in the Red Plague.

#apprenticeapril #azalea nevra #imalia gabriev #the arcana asks #fan apprentice

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missielee · 4 years

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Passion

Day 1&2: Fish & Wisp

Fish – such a fascinating creature

It was Olivia’s first passion as well as pet

When she was seven, her dad took her and her sister to the aquarium downtown.

It was magnificent, she said

It was like a different world, she said

Engulfed by a singular color blue, she was mesmerized by all the moving little diamonds around her

Colorful scales glimmered in the tank lights, felt like thousands stars on the sky

They moved oh so gracefully, bubbles curved along their fins

It was like a water dance.

That was at least ten years ago, little Olivia has already turned into a beautiful young woman who is passionate about the ocean life, specifically sea creatures. Fascinated by them, she indulged hours in books on her dad’s shelves and pursued her dream to become, well, quoted on quote “Fish”.

Fish is a peculiar animal. They live in water and absorb oxygen through their respiration system which is the gills. Their body is covered in scales worked as camouflage, protection and swimming aid. Their fins flutter through the current as they sway their body elegantly. What could possibly better than being a fish, swimming freely in the water blue?

“I prefer whale better” Janet voiced her opinion out loud

“What? That swimming elephant? No way!” Olivia eyed her friend in disbelief “That’s not even a fish!”

“It’s a sea creature too so it sorta counts. Also, FYI, that is super mean. That’s probably equivalent to pointing out someone is obese in fish language.” Janet rolled her eyes, continued eating her lunch

“Whale and dolphin are mammals, so not a fish. Beside, would you really want to be a whale? Big, giant blue whale?”

“Uh, whale is my spiritual animal, therefore, yes I’ll be the big giant and BEAUTIFUL blue whale” a glare was directed right back to Olivia “At the very least, I won’t get eaten by other species”

“Other than human, sure!” Olivia sipped her water “You do know that a fair amount of whale was hunted for meat and oil in the past right?”

“Whale hunting was a thing?”

“Yeah, it was like a thing back in 1800s. Products made from whale, mainly oil, are incredibly valuable. A barrel of sperm-whale oil can even went up to 1500$ per barrel” Olivia shrugged “But it wasn’t used much nowadays because many better resource appeared: like Kerosene, vegetable oil, petrol”

“Uh huh, you know a lot about whale for someone who just insult it” Janet smirked upon her “You like whale too, don’t you ~”

“Said the one who have their nose in Moby Dick like twenty times or something. I only know some of the basic thing about whale”

“Hey, that book is a masterpiece! Brave men against the nature! Battling fearlessly! Unlike you and you’re fish tank obsession.”

Olivia couldn’t bother to say back. It’s true that she’s have an itsy bitsy infatuation with fish, but she couldn’t explain it why she adores them that much. Some have told her she could become mermaid like those performs in aquarium shows but Olivia refused. Even though it was her dream to become of them, she absolutely hates mermaid/merman in generally because mermaid doesn’t swim like a fish does, according to her logically research. Since mermaid have different anatomy, their swim movement is up-and-down, which isn’t the normal side-to-side like fish does. In addition to that, mermaid eats fish, explained her dislike towards becoming one. She understood that it’s normal to pray on one to another in the animal kingdom but she cannot stand the idea of feasting on such pretty shiny thing. ‘I mean people might have evolved enough to even eat gold but not diamond, right?’

It’s not the first time she realized turning into a fish is practically impossible. Despite her fascination of the marine life, she apparently have Thalassophobia, which prevents her from any activities near the open water. It was upsetting to Olivia, having to spend her life in pictures capturing a small part of the vast water part. It’s like try to play puzzles with endless pieces and they all have the same shade of color. No amount of therapy could help her reach the board of the ship, the closest she could ever get is the lightly wet sand shore. Moreover, there’s an unexplainable feeling when she reaches the ocean, she hears it whisper her name in sad serenity. And on a more frightening term, it always seems to seep closer and closer to her.

“Livvy? You’re spacing out again. Come on, we’ll be late for class” she snapped out of her daze, turn to see her friend already finished packing her belongings

Checking her phone, 2:45 and her class started at 3, she needed to hurry.

“Oh I almost forgot. You’ll come to the Jake’s party this evening, right?”

“Beach party? Not so sure, you know how I feel about it”

“It’s just on shore. I’ll be there too. Don’t worry, if anyone tries to drag you near the water then they’ll have to go through me” Janet smirked. Three years in Aikido is enough to take anyone down, not to mention she was a three times champion of the city, as if that isn’t intimidating enough but it ensures Olivia enough to have a good time by the sand.

“But this evening already? I thought it’s on 13th?”

“Today is the 13th, Goldfish. Did you fall head over heel for Jake so far that you forgot to check for the actual date?”

“I might have mistaken a Friday for a Saturday. But that doesn’t make me a goldfish! And goldfish have good memory! The five seconds attention span is a myth!” Olivia exclaimed

“I guess your attention span is probably so filled with Jake that you can only remembered that he has invited you~”

The two kept bickering as they walked each other to class, like all the other days.

It was around eight when Olivia and Janet arrived at the party, and it sure is a lively one. The torch lit up the area but it was no match to the people’s dancing along the live music band. Sound of chatters mixed with the awry waves of the sea like a symphony. Olivia immediately spotted Jake in the crowd by the barbecue, greeting newcomers and grilled the ribs with his cheerful expression bright like sunlight. Janet could guess what millions thoughts going through her bestie’s mind as she pulled her over to the food court.

“Hey Jake, nice buns you got there. Mind if we have a taste?” Jake laughed wholeheartedly

“Why I wouldn’t mind you two lovely ladies to have a taste of my delicious buns, of course!” A wink sent towards them as Olivia reddened

“I-I-I brought some cakes from Rosie’s! A-And I think it’s a great party!” Jake took the box from Olivia and gave both of them a small dish

“I love Rosie’s cake! This is great for desert! Thanks Olivia!”

And needless to say, Janet had to play the waitress and lead a very blush female to a table while holding two dish of steak.

“Oh Janet! Did you see him smiling at me? He’s so nice!” Janet have a gulp of soda after settling down and listening to her friend’s love rant.

“Eat your steak Olivia or I’ll help you know how it’s like to be fish”

“Alright, no need to do that. I’m not some toddler, you know” Olivia sulked and cut a piece

Olivia notice a newspaper left next to her seat, seemed like it was today’s news. Curious, she decided to have a look since Janet had went to get a second plate.

“BREAKING NEW: SUCCESSFULLY FOUND THE ONLY SURVIVOR OF THE S.S HARVEY INCIDENT

Olivia Breston, eldest daughter of the Breston family and a bright student at Morrington University, was discovered barely breathing and unconscious on floating remains of the unfortunate ship by the fishermen of Devonne port. Lifeboat was sent immediately to revive and take Olivia to the closest hospital. 17h28 of 13th October, we received news …”

‘No way. Olivia… Breston… That’s… that’s my name!? I… I am dead?’

Janet returned back with a joyful meal in hand.

“Man! Jake sure have a knack for cooking! You’re a lucky one, Olivia!” Olivia didn’t respond, still deep in shock “Olivia?”

Olivia handed her the paper. Janet frowned before realization hit her. Surprisingly, she’s quite calm to react.

“So you found out. Any memory came back?”

Olivia shivered, shook her head.

“I survived, did I? So why… am I here? On this day, I was supposed to be found? But no?”

Janet moved next to her, sat down and comforted the confused girl.

“Do you want to know? Truly want to know?”

A silence between made the air thickened before Olivia gave a nod, reluctantly. Janet rubbed her shoulders soothingly.

“What you read is true. You are the only survivor of the S.S Harvey ship, a research ship directed by your father. You accompanied him on a field trip on 19th June when the ship got caught in bad weather, which later escalated into a sea storm. There was no news from the ship until…”

Janet pointed at the date and then at what supposedly to be warehouse, rather than what’s beside it. Needn’t to guess, Olivia could tell what Janet was trying to show her. But it didn’t explain everything that’s happening at the moment.

“I assume you’re wondering what’s happening right now. Care to take a blind guess?” Janet lighted a cig, savored that nicotine taste on the tip of her tongue before let out a wisp of white smoke.

“I died?”

“Eh, close enough. A coma. If you died, you wouldn’t be here to chit chat Livvy”

“Coma? But then, where am I?”

“Well, some might say it’s your subconscious so let just assume that it is. You didn’t die from the incident but drowning left you stranded in your brain, that’s all I could say.” Janet led her to the water. It seeped up close to their feet but it didn’t frighten Olivia no more

“I’m the fish of my own tank” Janet chuckled

“So you do remember”

“Yeah, I just got bits and bits of it. I chose to stay here, because there’s nothing out there for me, no one is waiting for me. At least I achieved my dream here, well, in a way” Olivia stepped back to clean sand, heart ached as she turned to Janet “Because in here I can see the one I held dear”

Janet tossed the burnt butt cig into the cool sand “Old habits die hard. You know, yet you still want to stay?”

“There’s no point going out there. I rather stay here”

“Alright, don’t keep Jake waiting on the dance floor.” Olivia headed back, blushed to the ear “After tonight, it’ll all be a bad dream”

“Wake up anew right?”

“Totally, Goldfish” Olivia’s shadow faded as now only Janet stood alone, water raised above her ankle. The way the ocean surging was unusual than before. There were whispers, cries lingered in the air. Moaned in pain. The thunder struck faraway on the surface warned the upcoming omen.

“Time’s running out, Olivia”

--- Missielee ---

#inktober #inktober2020 #fish #wisp

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heightenedemotions · 4 years

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&Penelope Allen

Name: Penelope Allen

Age: 61

Species: Vampire

Occupation: Swimming instructor, lifeguard

Orientation: Homosexual

Faceclaim: Billie Lourd

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Death, murder

Penelope was born in Newport, Vermont, to a human father and a mermaid mother. While she mostly grew up on land, her mother would take her down in Lake Memphremagog, where most of the mermaids resided still. So Penny got to grow up with both of those sides, and she loved it.

While her and her mother were the only supernaturals in the Allen family, she grew up close to her cousins, and adored all of them. They knew about both of them, and always kept the secret.

Penny went to a human school, and while some of the mermaids went to the same school, all of her friends were humans. Not that any of them knew about her. She was a fairly popular girl, and the other mermaids always seemed to disapprove of it, telling her someday, someone would learn about her. She never listened to them.

When she was younger, Penny would always beg her parents to send her to a summer camp. However, while they let her go to human school, they thought a summer camp might be a little too risky. So she never got to go. But when she was 14, her mother heard through one of her mermaid friends that a new, special summer camp was opening, only for the supernaturals. It was her first time in a summer camp, and she adored it. It also brought her her first contact with other species, which was fun.

At 16, Penny started dating a boy, football quarterback, quite possibly, the most popular guy in school. She wasn’t actually interested in him, but her friends kept telling her how lucky she was that he was into her, so she went along. Not that it lasted long, as the first time she slept with him, she realized she definitely was not into it. Made her confused for a little bit but after some experiments, she quickly realized she wasn’t into it because she was gay.

She kept going to summer camp every single summer, and once she was old enough, she became a camp counselor, helping with anything related to the water and boats. She also took her certification to become one of the lifeguards there.

Overall, life was good for Penny. She loved her family and all of her cousins, had good friends, and got to enjoy nice summers at camp. She couldn’t complain.

After graduation, Penny took a gap year, during which she went on a roadtrip across the country with some of her friends; it was the one summer she wasn’t at camp.

When she returned, she decided to go to community college, undeclared major. There really wasn’t much she wanted to do about summer camp, really. But that wasn’t good enough for her parents.

When she was done with college, they told her to find her own place to stay and a job, if she wasn’t going to study to get a “decent career”. She found a job in a music store, and got a shitty apartment with a friend. Still, she was happy.

However, her world was turned upside down at the end of the summer of 85. It had gone completely unaware to the camp administration, but a band of hunters had gotten heard of the camp. They were not cruel enough to murder children, so instead, they tracked down the counselors and administration members.

Of course, when the hunters came to Newport and found quite the mermaid population, they didn’t end their job at Penelope and her parents, but tried to wipe out the entire population in the town. Some were able to make it out, but most weren’t so lucky, including both of her parents. After that, the rest of her family made a pack to never once bring up their mermaid relatives, fearing the hunters would come back for them as well.

Penny... had a different fate than the others. She wasn’t dead yet when Harlow found her. She was turned by the other, something she’d never considered... but was’t entirely against it either. She was still far too young to die.

She was grateful for the second chance, but adapting to this new situation was hard. There were many more things about being a vampire than she imagined, so she tried to stay with Harlow as she got used to it. But she always had the fear hunters would hear about her and come back to finish the job. Not to mention, she feared losing control and murdering people.

Instead, Penny ended up running away one day. She knew of an old cabin in the woods, abandoned and entirely secluded from the world, so she headed there. It was shelter, and had mostly everything she needed. She originally planed to only stay for a couple of years, then come out, change identity, and try to regain a normal life. Her plans... changed with time.

She actually enjoyed being alone, no danger, no potential risk of hurting anyone. She spent most of her days reading the books that had been left in cabin, and jamming to the vinyls in the place. For 30 years, she lived as if she was alone in the whole world, and it was fine by her.

Her one human contact through all those years was Barry, the hillbilly that owned that creepy gas station in the middle of fuck no where. Despite being human, Barry knew about supernaturals, he’d once had a werewolf rip apart the only customers he’d had in a week, and had seen a couple of others through the years, so he wasn’t terrified of Penny when he meant her. She didn’t look frightening anyway. They had a mutually beneficial relationship: she’d bring him meat(mostly rabbits she’d catch, sometimes a deer), and in exchange, he gave her clothes, some vinyls, and other appliances she’d need. He even once came to the cabin to fix something that had broken. As unlikely as it was, they were friends.

And then one day, she came to the station, and he was’t there. She came back many times in a row, until she realized he was probably gone. So she grabbed as many things as she could need, and went back to her cabin for a couple more years.

It was only in 2015 that someone found her. Another supernatural, who was shook she’d managed to live all on her own for so long. But Penny was okay with it. Still, the other was right, maybe it was time she made it back to actual civilization. She didn’t want to go back to Newport, which was fair, too many bad memories. Instead, she was taken to Bellport.

Adjusting to the modern world, and technologies, was a lot. Quite frankly, she’s still not used to it. She has a phone, and a computer, and all those things, but she often ends up asking people for help. She’s also plainly refused to try modern clothes. Of course, her style isn’t purely 80s anymore, but she always goes for vintage or clothes that look like they could’ve been in her era.

Kids at camp used to call her Loppy, something her cousins picked up on. She liked it, but it does remind her of old times, so currently, no one is allowed to call her that.

Apart from that one football player, Penny’s never had an actual relationship. She’s had plenty of experiences and flings, but nothing serious.

#m;penelopeallen #death tw #murder tw

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gellavonhamster · 5 years

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where the gin is cold but the piano's hot

TFOTA, the Roach/the Bomb, pre-canon & missing scene || ao3 links - eng, rus

The night he first sees her, jazz is playing – at least some kind of music he likes is playing, and he considers any decent human music to be jazz because the mortals haven’t invented any music better than jazz yet, and it’s unlikely they ever will. It’s hot and crowded at the club, and a smell of sweat and perfume is hanging in the air. The attention of those listening to music while seated at the tables is drawn to the band; the attention of those dancing is drawn to their partners, and no one notices a petite young woman stealthily pulling expensive cigarette-cases out of patrons’ pockets and taking ladies’ handbags off the backs of the chairs. No one but him. Van is in no hurry to approach her; there is no doubt she is the one he’s heard about, but first he has to make sure it pays to get involved with her. The only thing he can say about her so far is that she isn’t much of a thief. It is seen with the naked eye that she’s relying on glamour too much, and would hardly be able to snatch anything without it.

It is later that she demonstrates her true talent, when one of the poor idiots notices his watch missing and makes a fuss. He and his buddies give chase to the thief, who makes a bolt for the back door, so Van leaves a couple of coins on the table quickly – because the music here is fine – and rushes after them. At the exit to the backyard, Van gets a chance to behold one of the stranger’s tricks that he’s been told about: a loud bang goes off, black smoke fills the doorway, and the mortals collapse, screaming and rubbing their eyes violently. All of them save for the owner of the watch, who’s already in the yard at that moment – and though he went down like a tree as well, he’s managed to seize the girl by the shoulders and drag her after him. Van would have watched her fight her chaser off – he’s almost sure she’d be able to do that – but there’s no time for that, so he decides to interfere, creeps up on the mortal, grabs the man’s shoulder, and digs into the pressure point with his claw. The mortal makes a gurgling sound and passes out.

The first thing she attempts to do when Van offers her his hand to help her get up is to hit him.

“Hey, hey,” he says conciliatorily, holding up his hands. “I’m just trying to help, you know.”

She staggers to her feet, and smoothens down her dress reflexively.

“Who sent you?” she asks him, looking at him closely. Obviously, she can see his real appearance through the veil of glamour, just like he can see hers. She’s a pixie, though not a pure-blood, apparently. The little wings on her back tremble in sync with her uneven breathing.

“No one. But I have matters to discuss with you. Come, let’s have a chat,” Van glances back. One of the robbed man’s pals tumbles out of the building, still squinting in pain. “And hurry up, would you?”

The bar he leads her to has worse music and simpler clientele, but they can catch their breath there, and talk everything through in peace. While he is describing the upcoming job to her (a local moneybags with no idea there were faeries in his bloodline, his great-grandmother’s charmed necklace, the people willing to pay a good round sum for that necklace), as well as what would be required from her (sleeping potions and explosives) and what she could get out of it (not more than fifteen per cent from what they were to pay him – that would be just fair), she listens to him with a light frown and fiddles with the thin bracelets on her thin wrist. She looks tired, distrustful – makes one think her life isn’t easy. Then again, would anyone with an easy life go stealing watches from restaurant revellers? She’s also outrageously pretty: a voluminous cloud of white hair; blue wings that look delicate, never mind if not too strong; warm brown skin with white spots like that of a doe; huge eloquent eyes. Van stumbles over his words twice while explaining her the proposed plan of the heist, and both times it’s because he gets carried away by the sight of her – in other words, both times because he’s a damn fool.

“Twenty-five per cent at least,” she says in the end, having found out all the details of interest to her.

“Fifteen. At most.”

“Twenty-five, and you can saddle me with more work.”

“Fifteen, and all I need from you is to have my back with your firecrackers. No offense, darling, but you’re not that good as a thief.”

“Twenty,” she’s toying with a fork someone has left on the table. “And don’t call me darling,” with that, she suddenly drives the fork into the tabletop within an inch of Van’s hand, and he flinches.

It is worth it, because she smiles at him – smiles at him for the first time; a radiant, mischievous smile. Now that’s what her face has been made for, Van thinks absentmindedly. Not for anxiety, not for weariness, but for smiling.

“Which one of these is charmed?” he asks, gesturing at her bracelets with a nod. “Or is it your earrings?”

She frowns again, and he thinks: did he really have to say that?

“There’s nothing charmed on me,” she tells him. “Why?”

Oh, Van thinks, so no trinkets that increase attractiveness. So it’s just that he hasn’t been with anyone for a while now. The only rational explanation.

“I just thought there might be,” he replies offhandedly, and holds out his hand for a handshake before she can ask again – he cannot lie, after all. “All right, twenty it is. And how shall I call you then, by the way?”

“My name is Liliver,” she says and shakes his hand, and he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him and thinks: come on, you idiot, what are you, a boy?

“Liliver,” he repeats. Her name jingles on his tongue. “I’m Van.”

“Well, Van, it’s nice to meet you,” she lets go of his hand and raises her glass. “Shall we drink to the beginning of our alliance?”

They stay at the bar for a long time, paying for drinks with enchanted shards of bottles, and by the end of the evening he’s almost sure he is far gone.

The necklace theft goes without a hitch, they get their gold, and in a few days Van contacts her again: he needs a partner for robbing a mortal antiquarian whose collection, unbeknownst to him, includes some merfolk weapons.

“Bear in mind, it’s a long journey,” Van tells her as he sits down on the edge of the table in her workshop. Liliver makes her bombs in the attic of an abandoned house on the outskirts of Brooklyn. This is also where she sleeps, and though she has smartened the attic up as much as possible with the bought and stolen knick-knacks and paintings, she still cannot help thinking that this is not a place meant for living. Sometimes she dreams about the family manor and the bedroom with rhododendron shrubs outside the window – unfortunately, those dreams are usually nightmares. “We’ll have to fly.”

“Where?”

“Louisiana. Ever been there?”

“Now I will,” she shrugs, ready to go anywhere just not to stick here all the time. Liliver knows: she can run to Louisiana or to Australia or to the end of the world, but her sorrow will tag along loyally and dutifully. Still, at least this way she’ll take her mind off that, and make some money at the same time. Van just chuckles approvingly in response.

After New Orleans (a dagger with its hilt carved to look like a mermaid’s tale; a party on a terrace of a huge house; the high-heeled shoes she threw into the ditch; the flight back on ragwort ponies, making stops in the fields and forests and dying hick towns), they don’t see one another for almost half a year. Liliver doesn’t try to look for him: firstly, she’s got things to do as it is, and secondly, she is inexplicably sure that one day he’ll come to her himself. And so he does, with a bottle of bathtub gin and a new brilliant plan that he cannot put into action without her help.

Some more time after that, they start working together on a regular basis, stealing from humans and faeries alike. Van teaches her to move more nimbly, makes her practice on him, having her pilfer at least one object from his pockets per day. For her part, Liliver gives up on trying to make an assistant out of him after he almost blows up both of them by accident – not that she really is in need of a helper anyway. Together they break into houses, pick locks, crack safes, together they appear in the restaurants, movie theatres, and at the races. Every so often their business brings them to Faerie, and Liviver is surprised to discover that she is able to be there again after all she’s gone through, able to breathe without hearing the cries that her loved ones died with each and every second – it appears that time is a good healer indeed.

Usually she ensures the routes of escape or cleans out the victims’ pockets while Van distracts them with smooth talk. He has a way with words – in most cases he does not even need glamour to pitch a line to humans and even faeries. Though when it comes to mortals, a goblin and a pixie certainly cannot do without magic – after all, they cannot show their true faces to them. Especially Van, who is no oil painting even compared to some of his fellow goblins.

In spite of that, eventually she must admit she’s head over heels for him.

Of course, part of the reason must be that before he came into her life, Liliver was lonely. Her entire family had been slaughtered; all of her friends either died or turned out to be traitors. Her new life in the mortal world was rather survival than life, a row of endeavours to make a living, not get into trouble, kill time, and not go insane from grief. She didn’t bond with any other faeries she has crossed paths with, first for fear of getting stabbed in the back again, and then for fear of having lost the ability to socialize, make friends, love. Then she met Van and was surprised to find out she was still able to trust somebody – and to laugh. Is it possible to fall for someone just because when you’re with them, you can laugh, listen to other’s stories and tell your own, tease and rib each other? Is it enough just to feel alive next to someone – and is there any need for anything else, really?

With him, it’s easy – but it all becomes ineffably difficult as soon as it comes to giving him a clue about her feelings. Liliver knows she’s good-looking, knows that she has the ability to win others’ affection; still, she’s afraid of using these weapons of hers lest she ruin the friendship she still needs so much. He’s not much older than she is, yet something in this ridiculous awkward affair reminds her of her youth and her crush on the sprite her parents had hired to teach her and her sisters sword-fighting: it’s the same overwhelming affection, blushing and smiling stupidly at the memories of accidental touches, the same certainty that if she tries to make a step forward, nothing good will come out of it. The same fear of being laughed at.

He does not laugh – he simply either does not understand or ignores all her careful attempts at flirting. There is no telling if it’s the former or the latter. She’s afraid to learn the truth, so she doesn’t ask.

At some point Liliver gives up and agrees to go on a date with the sylph who shops for potion ingredients at the same place as she does. A month later she dumps him, and the same evening she sleeps with a nixie that lives in the city canal. The succession of relationships in her life becomes almost continuous. The faces on the pillow next to her in the mornings keep replacing one another.

Her feelings for Van do not disappear, but as the years go by, she gets used to them, and cannot imagine herself without that bright sweet sadness, just like without the wings on her back.

On a hot day in June 1968 by the human chronology, she and Van sit on a rock near Grand Canyon and drink mead.

“Are you seriously planning to steal from the Court of Teeth?” Liliver asks him, holding up her face to the scorching sun.

Van shrugs. “You think we can’t handle it? We?”

It ends up being the only time when they can’t handle it.

The Court of Teeth turns them into its marionettes, and it is his fault. Shouldn’t have tried to bite more than he could chew, some nuts are too tough to crack, and so on, and so forth. Van could have regarded it as a sort of justice – not that it would have stopped him from trying to escape captivity by any possible means – if Liliver hadn’t been caught too. They tortured her, subjected her to the same geases and curses as him, enslaved her – and it is his fault.

Their lives are spared because they’re useful. His sleight of hand and talent for thievery, her profound knowledge of potion- and bomb-making. Their lives are spared – but now these lives are pitch-black and hopeless, with no room for rest, for respect, for freedom. The work they’re being assigned makes his skin crawl, and he’s seen quite a lot in his lifetime. He is a thief and a crook, but he has never been a murderer – before. He’s killed when there was no other way to get out alive, sure, but not deliberately, not frequently, and without excessive violence. He used to have at least some kind of moral compass. Now he can’t afford it anymore.

He could have let that shit consume him completely, but he keeps holding on – for Liliver. Liliver, who could have grown to hate him, for it was his overconfidence that has doomed them for a life in the service of one of the most bloodthirsty Courts – but she hadn’t, she keeps talking to him, keeps sharing healing ointments with him and even applying them herself to the fresh scars on his face. He used to be quite a scarecrow by the standards of most Faerie folk even before, and now it’s way worse. But she does not look away, does not wince, she touches his wounds ever so carefully and they heal a little faster under the influence of the potions and under her fingers, and his pain is almost worth these touches.

At times, Van lets himself imagine another life, a life in which she hasn’t become a slave through his fault, a life in which he doesn’t look like a freak next to her lovely self, a life in which he could let himself confess his feelings to Liliver and stand a chance of having them returned. At times, but not too often. Dreams are fine stuff, but one can’t live in them forever.

And he has to go on living and looking for a way to win back freedom for himself and for the woman he loves – the more so for her.

“Tell me something,” Liliver asks him sometimes at night, crawling up closer to him on the stone floor, so he tells her whatever he can remember: tales of kings and heroes, seers and warriors, priests and knights. Tales with happy endings, because they get enough of the opposite of that on daily basis. Crooks are well-versed in pretty stories.

At night, she presses her cheek to his shoulder and laces her fingers with his when he takes her hand – because she’s cold and miserable and wants to hold on with all her strength to whoever’s beside her, even to someone like him.

Sometimes in his sleep he feels a tender fleeting touch of her lips on his cheek or his brow and does not open his eyes, for he knows that it could be nothing but a dream.

After the Court of Teeth, working for Prince Dain seems like a fairy tale. At first Liliver cannot shake off the thought that in a moment she’s going to wake up and find herself in a musty little room in the dungeons, her back aching after a night spent on cold stone, her fingers still gripping Van’s clawed hand so hard they’ve gotten numb. Every morning she wakes up with relief – and a little bit of regret, because she misses his warmth close to her body, his steady breath. Both of them have their own rooms now – a far cry from the royal chambers, most certainly, but good enough for her. Admittedly, she has long come to accept that even if she gave him a hint that she wouldn’t mind him spending a night in her room, he would say nothing and pretend he didn’t understand. She misses his stories and his songs and his attempts to reassure her with promises that one day they’ll get out of that nightmare, but why in the world would he continue to regale her with all that if the nightmare really is over? He must be just happy to take a break from her constant presence.

They are still close, still exchange the jokes only the two of them understand, still get drinks together evenings, but Liliver feels like something has become history beyond recall. It might be because now that they’re spies, the unseen and faceless gears in the machinery of court intrigue, each day they become less of Van and Liliver and more of the Roach and the Bomb. What use do shadows have for names? What use for feelings and memories? It also might be because they’ve spent so many years working in pair but now they’ve found themselves a part of a trio. Their associate, a young half-blood faerie who goes by the Ghost, is friendly and reliable enough but secretive as well, and even though it doesn’t take too long for Liliver to stop feeling wary of him, it still isn’t quite the same as the life she and Van used to live in the lands of humans, back when it was two of them against the world.

Now there are three of them: three spies of the Court of Shadows, three cards up Prince Dain’s sleeve. A king, a queen, and a knave. When Jude Duarte, their little Queen of Shadows, joins them, there is finally an ace in this deck.

Soon after, there is a coup, Dain’s death, his father and sisters’ deaths, and then young Cardan is on the throne, and Jude is his seneschal, standing beside his throne and only officially not on the throne herself. And then she and Jude are examining the chambers of the late King Eldred, checking if it will be safe for Cardan here, if he should still watch out for assassins hiding in secret passages. And then she, Liliver, the last survivor of her family, a thief, a spy, and a former servant of the Court of Teeth, is lounging on the huge bed of the deceased monarch just because she can.

Anything comes true; anything but the dearest wishes.

Jude and she laugh like children, sprawled across the pillows, and Liliver, for once in a while, remembers her little sisters – the way they used to climb into each other’s beds just like that and share secrets, not the way blood flowed from their slit throats.

The secret Jude elicits from her is both a long-held one and one that is too fresh, like a non-healing would.

“You should tell him,” Jude suggests as if she has any right to give such advice, as if there is nothing unhealthy and incendiary going on between her and the young king, nothing that causes suffering to both of them.

“Perhaps,” Liliver agrees.

She cannot promise she’ll do that because, like any faerie, she cannot lie.

His hands are shaking a little while he wipes his neck and his face with a cool damp cloth, but he feels strength coming back to him, filling his veins anew. He is still not as vigorous as before the poison dart hit him, but with each breath he takes he’s a little stronger than a moment ago. While he is cleaning up, Liliver sits on his bed and tells him what has happened while he was unconscious – about Jude’s return and how she healed him, about Madoc’s alliance with the Court of Teeth – that blasted Court of Teeth again! About the Ghost, who apparently can be trusted again. About Cardan turned into a giant serpent, which feels even more disheartening than the fact that they’re on the brink of war: Van has really taken to this boy, so spoiled and unloved at the same time.

“So it means there’s no way to save him?” he asks, and sits down on the bed next to Liliver.

“I had nearly started thinking there was no way to save you. I didn’t want to believe that,” she smiles sadly, “yet still I couldn’t help thinking about that. And then Jude rescued you. She still hasn’t succeeded in bringing Cardan back, but now I’d rather believe that she just has to figure out how to do it than that she doesn’t have enough power for that.”

He thinks of Jude, whom he hasn’t seen yet since he came round, and smiles, too. He’d have to thank her: mortals must consider that appropriate.

“A mortal High Queen,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “We guessed it right with her code name, didn’t we? Our girl is the real ruler of Faerie.”

Liliver grins. “I know, right?”

She still has the same smile as many years ago, and she still seems made for merriment, for joy, but now he can press his lips to that smile, and now he knows that, as it turns out, he could have well done that ages ago.

“You know that you owe me, right? For all those years,” she whispers gleefully and kisses him on the lips, on the forehead, on the neck. Maybe back then, in the dungeons of the Court of Teeth, it was not a dream.

“My dear,” he replies, holding her closer, “Just like you do owe me.”

Now all that remains to be done is to win a war.

The night she first sees him, jazz is playing – at least some kind of music she likes is playing, and the only genre of human music she knows is jazz, though she likes the twenty-first century songs from the player that Vivienne Duarte got her just as well.

“Sounds romantic,” the High Queen remarks when Liliver tells her about that.

“Not romantic enough if I hadn’t tried to kill him even once, right, Your Majesty?”

“Hey, you tried to stab me with a fork the very first time we met,” Van points out.

“And I’ll try again if I have to,” she waves him away, and kisses him.

#tfota #the folk of the air #the bomb #the roach #holly black #my fic #gella talks tfota #talk talk talk #an attempt was made #should i mention that english is not my native language? i probably should

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reynewcw-blog · 6 years

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>> One has red hair. The other has blonde, both vaguely smelling of frat boy but also smoke. Not the tobacco kind either the…fire and brimstone kind. Make sense? >> Sure. >> Don’t patronize me. You want the info or not? >> ? I said sure. Keep going. >> Anyway. Both have a vaguely Montana accent. Nasal Midwesterners. One mentioned they needed to get back to their shift at…Marla’s? Mario’s? Some bar downtown. Other than that, they’re both tall, kinda lanky… >> Got it. That’s all I need. Thanks. >> You can tip me a little extra next time you see me.

Zhen rolled his eyes as he tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. He had his car parked outside of a bar and was looking through the smudged windows inside. He could see a man with hair so red it reminded him of the Little Mermaid. Could have been dye. Or it could have been a façade shoddily created to form a human shell that could be flashy and appealing to the average human being. His eyes drifted from that garish spot to the corner of the street where a tall blonde with hair as bright as the sun was talking to two women with a sharp smile on his face.

One worked inside, the other worked outside. A decent operation of the bait and switch. If they could get at least two women they’d be fed for a while. If they could get more and use their appeal to set off the idea of a threesome for both then that’d be four humans to feed from. A feast for a quiet Saturday night. Checking his passenger seat, he reached into his bag and looked through what he had. Holy water, crucifixes, some old ass but blessed amulet, rosary beads…and ah, there. The wrap around case of knives he kept, all of them coated in a special holy water mix that would slip through a demon’s façade like a hot knife through butter. Complete with sizzling sound effects.

Zhen pulled on his leather gloves and zipped up his jacket. He grabbed from the selection of knives and dagger he kept with himself and shoved the holy items into his pocket. He got out from the car, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched up to his ears as he walked forward.

As he passed the blonde he could hear the purr of his voice, “It’s a pretty cool apartment. I’ve got a hot tub on the patio. Some wine set aside for two ladies as lovely as yourselves.” Zhen swore he could almost feel the sticky, sickening miasma that surrounded the demon in a man’s meat suit.

One of the girls giggled and swayed further into the demon’s embrace, sighing, “I would love to.” Zhen had to give the other girl credit for stepping back, clearly confused as she warred with herself to not follow the stranger home. But with one touch to her arm she melted.

Zhen stopped in his tracks, and turned, “Hey,” his voice cut through the beat of silence that passed as the resisting girl stumbled forward. The blonde turned and eyed Zhen, frowning. “…Do you got the time,” Zhen asked, taking this chance to walk towards him.

The blonde rolled his eyes, but he got out his phone and checked. Right when the screen flashed that it was 9:21 in the evening, Zhen moved. The jostling of beads was soon met with the sudden sizzle of flesh. The blonde screamed, eyes going wide and mouth yawning open, cracking along the edges of his lips as the poorly made flesh melted around the rosary. Both women jerked, as if someone had snapped the wire between them and the demon long enough to realize what was happening. Zhen drew up the bandana around his neck to cover his nose. The scent of burnt flesh had never been his favorite.

When the blonde, or incubus now that Zhen knew for sure, attacked he was quick to follow up. He blocked the swinging clawed hand with his forearm, pushed up, then turned around his back sharply to jerk the long arm around and pressed it against his lower back. Behind, Zhen leaned in and whispered into the demon’s ear, “If you would have just stayed in hell you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

The demon snarled while the women turned and ran. His meal had left. Zhen felt a delicious, vindictive victory as he kicked out to take out the demon’s knees from behind. He then jerked his arm around a neck that was turning black, so he could drag him back into a shadowed alley. It gave Zhen the cover he needed to ease out his knife and stab it right into the demon’s back. As it shrieked and struggled, Zhen’s mouth started to move so sharp, fluent Latin left him. He kept the demon pressed against his chest, arms locked and keeping it in place as he whispered. He was used to killing things with his bare hands and weapons, using something like holy texts or totems still took some getting used to. However, as he watched the demon start to shrivel and shriek, its wings cracking from its form just to snap back into place like a rubber band…Zhen had the thought of, ‘I’m getting better at this.’

Once all that was left in the demon’s place was a scourge of black marks and bubbling goo on the ground, Zhen thought it was time to find the next one.

The red head from the bar found him first.

The initial slam of half a two by four on the back of his head made Zhen’s vision swim. The next hit on his back had him collapsing to his knees. Before the third hit could land however, Zhen reached into his pocket with trembling hands. As blood trickled down the back of his neck he looked up and saw a sliver of pale skin between the demon’s shirt and jeans. It was all he needed.

He jerked the vial of holy water up and crushed it between his gloved palm and the demon’s flesh. The scream that escaped was ungodly and reminded Zhen of the time he had seen the Grudge as a kid and had nightmares for weeks. As he sat up on his knees, the demon started to sink onto his own. Using the glass, it opened up that form, so the holy water could sink in. As their eyes met once the red head fell to his knees, Zhen began to chant again. His voice was steady despite his own lack of balance, his eyes never wavering as word after word seemed to unfurl the human flesh from a demonic form.

Until finally the incubus was nothing more than another mark on the concrete. Zhen sat back on his knees, panting softly, eyes fluttering. He hissed as he reached back and touched over his head. Damn. That would be difficult to deal with later but for now. Mission accomplished. He could report this to the handlers and get his payment. These were the exact guys he had been sent to look for, but he had not been able to catch their trail until they had been seen at Legends lurking about. He’d have to text his thanks to Noah later. For now, he had to get home.

As he stood up and had to catch himself on a brick wall he just prayed to whoever out there was listening that the money and information he got in return for this could override the drawback of needing stitches.

--------------

“…That’s it?”

Across from Zhen was a woman who stared at him like he was stupid.

“What do you mean,” she asked, “We gave you ten thousand dollars to take out the threats. That was the agreed upon amount.”

As he shoved the check into his pocket, Zhen’s jaw clenched, and the muscle jumped up beneath his skin. “I’m talking about information. I was told that if I did this I would get something else. Something from the files that could me figure out Dai’s murder.” He looked at the woman’s desk and then back up to her face, “There’s nothing?”

She rolled her eyes as she looked away to her computer, “We told you what we know so far. The evidence there was chaotic. That entire apartment was in disarray. We swabbed the evidence left on the walls, the couch, the sink, and the kitchen floor. We know that whoever killed your sister was a succubus or incubus thanks to the makeup of what was left behind. We also know your sister was half drunk that evening and had claw marks on her legs, her thighs, and…other places.” She had the decency to look remorseful at that part. “We also know her phone was taken, her laptop crushed…there’s little else we can find and the hospital your sister worked at refuses to let go of the security tapes or images. Claiming some sort of privacy law.”

“Are you saying you have nothing else for me,” Zhen asked, chest tight, fists clenched on the counter.

“No,” she responded sharply, panicked more at the idea of them losing such a useful hunter rather than crushing the hopes of the man before her. “No we just. Ask that you be patient.”

Zhen stepped back from the counter, “Right. Patient.” He wanted to snap that he’d been patient for two years but…but no. He wanted to keep this gig until he tapped every resource possible.

“Thanks,” Zhen turned on his heel, eyes burning with a disappointed fury that warred between wanting to punch the shit out of someone or go home and hide in his bed until it was time to pick Bran up from school. Instead of that Zhen went to the library to pick through old books of lore and mythology until the fog in his head cleared and he had the plan in place to keep looking. He refused to limit himself to what the Handlers could do. He had gotten comfortable. Now it was time to challenge himself, to push, until he had that murderer by the hair and could rip the head from their body. Anything less was unacceptable.

#writing #zhen

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atrashmouthsed · 7 years

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Part of Your World

The Little Mermaid (Klance)

*aye here I am back at it again with another one shot while slowly dying inside. Originally this was just supposed to be the ‘Kiss the Girl’ scene from The Little Mermaid, but I figured why not add the scenes leading up to that one? As always please do not repost without credit. Special thank you to @keithkogayne for yelling at me to actually write this, and @sir-klancelot for help with this idea in general! And to all my other’s who gave me support!!*

*Also PS! This is merely here for feedback. I may take this down depending on how I want to continue this. I have now added the keep reading option.*

— The sea was full of life. Lance liked to believe that the stories he heard about mermaids were real, but his efforts were futile in actually finding them. Lance was a prince! At least that’s what Hunk kept saying. Hunk didn’t understand Lances fascination with the inhabitants of the sea (especially the mermaids) and tried to remind Lance that he had more important things to attend to. Lance would always brush Hunk off, saying that he knew that but always giving a ‘what if?’ Hunk knew he would never win that fight, so instead he’d simply sigh and escort Lance off to something important. But every time, Lance would look back to the ocean and wonder what was really going on down there. And if he would ever get to meet a mermaid someday.

If only he knew.

— The kingdom of Aquatica was bustling as tonight was the special performance. It was Queen Allura’s birthday and her seven sons were coming together to sing for one night only to celebrate. If only everyone could be as excited about the hustle and bustle.

The theater was packed to the brim and soon the lights went dim. Allura, always one for something dramatic and sparkly, arrived wearing her shiniest top and pulled along by the most purebred dolphins the sea could offer. Everyone awed and clapped as their queen took her place at the box seat up in the far corner. Soon after the maestro arrived.

Pidge, a unique crab the color of kelp green, was an absolute wreck. Being the royal court composer this would be the biggest show of her career just because she was dealing with the Queens sons. One small slip up could ruin any further chance of a promotion and she started sweating. Hearing the applause as she arrived, she gave small waves and proceeded to quickly head down to the podium. Looking behind her she saw Allura give a reassuring nod and smile; Pidge tried to smile back but was sure she looked like she was sending an S.O.S.

Finally at the podium, Pidge got out of her small shell carriage and pulled the music sheets out. Looking at the band she took a deep breathe and with a small wave the performance was off.

Everything was going perfectly and Pidge almost smiled contently. But then the sons started singing, and when they introduced their youngest brother and the greatest singer, he wasn’t in his shell. Pidge almost fainted.

Everyone gasped in worry while the sons looked scared. Pidge didn’t even have to look at Allura, she could feel her fury a mile away.

“KEITH!!!”

— Keith poked his head out from behind a small sunken ship and smiled. “Come on Shiro were almost there!” Shiro, Keith’s best friend and a flounder fish, painted and shook as they neared the abandoned sucken ship.

“Keith are you sure we should be doing this? It looks scary and dangerous.” Keith laughed a little as he arrived in front of the ship. “You could always turn back you know?” Finding a small window to go through Keith went in. “And leave you alone? I don’t think so.” Keith laughed again as he made his way through the ship.

Keith had always been fascinated with the world of humans. Their inventions were so weird and different that Keith couldn’t help but love them. Shiro was against all involvement with humans and their stuff, but somehow he always found himself in these situations.

After a few minutes of exploring and finding a weird thing with a skinny handle and three small needle things at the top, Keith decided they should head to Coran for advice. Good thing too, because right at that moment a shark came.

Shiro screamed and Keith quickly grabbed him and started swimming away. Sharks weren’t common near Aquatica, but out in the open ocean it was anyone’s playing field.

Deluding the shark and eventually getting him stuck in an anchor, Keith and Shiro swam towards the surface to find Coran’s post. Shiro was still skeptical of him, but Keith liked him so that was that.

— Coran spent his days basking in the sun rays while hopefully catching food here and there. The frequent visits from Keith were the highlight of his life. How they met he could never remember, but he’s glad they did. “CORAN! HEY!” Speaking of Keith. Grabbing his telescope Coran looked out onto the water. “LOOK OUT MERMAID AHEAD! HOW YOU DOING KID?” Bringing his telescope down Coran stepped back a bit as Keith and Shiro were right in front of his face. “Wow what a swim! Okay then what you got for me?”

Keith pulled out the strange looking thing and handed it to Coran. “Well look at this! Haven’t seen one of these in ages. YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS?” Coran shoved the thing in Shiro’s face and Shiro swam back a bit mumbling a no. “ITS A DINGLEHOPPER! Yeah humans use these babies to do their hair.” Coran demonstrated. “See like that! Sometimes I see them at these Uhm dances or whatever. Humans are strange indeed.”

Keith froze for a second. “Dances. MUSIC! OH NO THE SHOW! THAT WAS TODAY! I HAVE TO GO! BYE CORAN!” Grabbing his stuff Keith quickly dove back in the water, Shiro quickly following after. “Bye Keith! That boy is something.” As Keith swam home as fast as he could, he missed two very strange looking eels watching him from under a rock. — In a dark hole, a powerful witch watched the young prince through the eyes of his minions. “Yes, run home to mummy. Wouldn’t want to upset her on her special day now would we?” A hand reached out from the darkness and grabbed a shrimp. “Hmph, back in my day we had grand feasts. Now look at me, withering away to nothing. Banished and forced to live in the boons.” Stepping out completely from the darkness, the man walked over to the middle of his “room” per day. “Haggar! Sendak! Keep a close eye on the little prince. He may be our key to Queen Allura’s undoing.” — “WHERE WERE YOU? DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW HUMILIATED I WAS WITH YOUR NO SHOW?!” Keith winced as Allura continued to yell at him. “AND PIDGE’S ENTIRE CAREER IS BEING QUESTIONED THANKS TO YOU!” Keith looked over and saw Pidge was giving him a very severe stink eye. Sighing, Keith spoke up.

“I’m sorry! I forgot!” Allura raised her eyebrow at him, not buying it for a moment. “We didn’t mean to be out so long my Queen. See there was a shark and then we visited Coran-” Keith covered Shiro’s mouth before he could continue any further.

“Coran? Oh cuttlefish, you were out exploring the sunken ships again were you?! Keith how many times do I have to tell you not go near those things? And coran? That blasted bird. Feeding you information on the humans.” Keith almost rolled his eyes. This was maybe the fiftieth time him and his mother had had this conversation. “I don’t see what’s so bad about the humans! They have such amazing things!” Allura took a deep breath. “Keith I’m not going to explain myself to you. But you should at least see the major difference between the humans and us. We are mermaids and mermen. We live in the ocean and protect the creatures down here. Humans are the opposite. They live on land and litter our floors with their inventions. And they hunt the very creatures we protect. You must at least understand that!”

Keith huffed. He didn’t want to deal with his mother right now. “So as punishment I forbid you to go near the surface or the ship wreckages ever again!” Keith went wide eyed. “Mom this isn’t fair!” Allura glared at him. “Don’t talk back to me. The punishment is final and this talk is over!” Keith wanted to say more but Allura left no room for argument. So instead he fought back the tears and swam out of his mothers throne room and into the open ocean.

— Lance sighed as Hunk went on about some hunt he recently just came back from. The night was warm and windy, and Lance wished so desperately to be on the beach admiring the stars in peace.

“Lance! Hey are you even listening to me?” Lance shook his head. “Sorry Hunk just got lost in thought. Isn’t this a bit extravagant for a birthday?” Hunk spluttered in response. “Extravagant? Nonsense! You love the ocean right? What better way to celebrate then on a ship in the ocean? Now come one play something or at least drink. Sitting here sulking doesn’t look good for your reputation.” Lance sighed and pulled out his flute. Once he started playing he actually felt a bit better and happier.

— Keith swam up to the surface after seeing a lot of bright lights dance across the top. Shiro swam close behind him while constantly saying how bad of an idea it was to swim to the surface so soon after his punishment. “Shiro shush I have to see this.”

Poking his head out of the water, Keith was met with a huge ship that was the source of the bright lights. Smiling he started swimming closer. “KEITH MY BOY! SOME NONSENSE AM I RIGHT?” Keith merely kept swimming closer, ignoring Coran. Making it to the boat Keith saw an opening in the side. Pulling himself up a bit he looked inside.

Humans were everywhere. Keith almost screamed in excitement at the sight in front of him. It seemed to be a celebration of some sort as everyone was dancing and playing music. Keith scanned the crowd and did a sort of hopping motion to the music. Keith stopped though once he saw one particular individual.

In all honesty Keith hadn’t seen many humans, but he was sure he saw the most beautiful one to ever exist. The man was currently playing something silver and skinny. His skin was a perfect tan tone, (it almost reminded him of his mothers) his hair was short and brown, his eyes could make even the bluest ocean jealous, and his smile, oh his smile, it made Keith weak.

“Keith? What are you looking at?” Coran peered in trying to get a look. “Have you ever seen a more perfect human?” Shiro kept jumping out of the water to get a peek but was failing. “I don’t know, some of them have weird skin.” Keith giggled a bit. “No not them, him.” Pointing towards the tanner one of the entire group, Coran gasped. “Oh he’s different then all I’ve seen. Not bad I’d say.” Keith folded his arms and rested them on the edge, staring contently at this human who was slowly taking his heart.

— Everything took a turn for the worst in a matter of seconds. Keith had felt it first, being a merman and all. The wind started to pick up, the clouds got darker, and the waves got bigger and bigger. A storm was coming, a very nasty storm. Keith held onto a long skinny thing that was hanging off the side of the boat as he heard everyone on board yelling to do different things. Soon lighting and thunder started cracking and booming across the sky and Keith tightened his grip as the ship began rocking violently, but lost his grip when a large gust of wind took him by surprise. Just as he hit the water a large lightning strike hit the ship and everything was on fire. — Lance could see nothing but blurry bodies and water. Everything was going too fast and his only priority at the moment was getting his crew off the ship. Yelling at everyone to get in a lifeboat, a large blast of lighting hit the ship and everyone was thrown off. Lance quickly swam to the surface and heard hunk yelling for him. Looking around, Lance didn’t hear Hunk yelling for him to watch out as at that exact moment a piece of debris came down and hit him in the head.

— Keith swam around the pieces of wreckage as he tried to look for anyone who might need help. Swimming around some more he saw that one human start sinking down with blood slowly trickling out from his head. Quickly swimming over to him Keith hoisted him up by his waist and started swimming towards shore.

Making it in record time, Keith pulled the human out of the water and onto the beach; grabbing some seaweed in the process. Not very many people in Aquatica got injured but in case someone did everyone was trained in knowing what to do. Keith hoped humans would react the same way merpeople did.

Making the seaweed into a squishy ball, Keith pressed it into the humans forehead. Keeping pressure Keith admired the human since he was so up close.

“KEITH! THERE YOU ARE MY BOY! ARE YOU OKAY?” Coran yelled as he flew down and landed next to the human. “Is he dead? I can’t really see him breathing.” Coran hummed as he went down the humans feet and brought a foot up to his head. “Oh, I can’t make out a heartbeat.” Keith was about to say something but then the human started stirring. “Coran! He’s alive!” Bringing his hand up to the humans face, Keith started to sing, not noticing the arrival of Shiro and someone else.

As Keith continued singing, Te human slowly opened his eyes to the sight of a very bright yet beautiful man. Smiling a bit, the human brought his hand up to the one on his face. “LANCE? LANCE ARE YOU OVER HERE?” Keith quickly stopped singing and was gone before the other human came.

— Keith was on cloud nine all morning. His brothers were in complete shock as Keith swam around all aloof and sang some tune non of them knew. As he was swimming Keith bumped into his mother and giggled a bit. “Good morning mother!” Placing a small kiss on her cheek, Keith swam away.

“Well, what’s with him? Not that I’m complaining.” Looking at her sons, her eldest spoke up. “Isn’t it obvious mother? Keith’s in love.” Allura gasped. “My son? In love?” All six sons sighed in agreement.

— “He loves me! Mm he loves me not. He loves me! I knew it!” Keith giggled as he held the flower petal to his chest. “Keith! What are you doing here?” Keith turned over to see the little green crab swimming towards him. “Pidge! I’m in love!” The crab rolled her eyes. “Yes I’m aware. Poor Shiro had a heart attack after your troublesome activities last night. The storm freaked him out and he came to find me for help. Don’t know what he expected me to do, I’m a crab!” Noticing that Keith wasn’t even paying attention to her, Pidge swam in front of his face. “Hey! Are you even paying attention?” Keith laughed. “Sorry Pidge but I can’t stop thinking about him. I have to see him again! I’ll get Shiro and we’ll swim up to his castle. Shiro can splash around to get his attention and then-” Pidge abruptly cut off Keith.

“Keith stop. Keith listen to me, the human world? It’s a mess. Life under the sea is better than anything they got up there!” Pidge started singing and Keith honestly couldn’t be mad at her when she was so adorable and actually knew how to swim. During the middle of her song though, Shiro came along and whispered something in Keith’s ear. Smiling, Keith swam away with Shiro; no one noticing they left.

— Pidge groaned in frustration. Keith was gone (again) and she had no idea where she was. Sighing, Pidge decided to just take a small swim around to clear her head. “PIDGE! MISS PIDGE?” Turning around Pidge saw the royal messenger seahorse swim towards her. “Yes?” The messenger caught his breath first before speaking. “Queen Allura has been asking for you. Says it’s really important. Something about Keith.” Pidge almost fainted. She knows.

— “Shiro! Oh come on can’t you just tell me where your taking me?” Shiro laughed a little. “No can do Keith. It’s a surprise!” Keith rolled his eyes but decided to keep following Shiro. Soon Shiro stopped swimming and spun around. “Ta-da!” Keith looked over Shiro and gasped. They were at the wreckage sight from last night. “Oh my gosh! Shiro this is amazing! All the things I could find here! What if I find something that’s his?” Shiro just motioned for him to go explore. “Just make sure not to say anything to my mom next time we’re late for something.”

“Don’t tell me what exactly?” Keith felt his stomach drop. Turning around he saw his mother and Pidge looking very scared and sorry. “Mother! It’s not what it looks like.” Nice one Keith. “Oh I think it’s exactly like what it looks like. I thought I told you to never go near ship wreckages ever again?” Keith looked to the side. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you Keith! This is getting out of hand! And you saved a human above all things too!” Keith looked back at his mother. “He was going to die! I couldn’t just let him! I had to do something.”

Allura sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why not? One less human to worry about. It would’ve been a blessing if he died!” Keith shook his head. “Mother I love him!” Allura gasped. “No. Keith this is too far! Your a merman, he’s a human! It’s forbidden!” Keith puffed his chest out a bit. “I don’t care!” Allura growled, her trident glowing in reaction to her anger. “Keith, so help me I will get through to you if it’s the last thing I do!” Looking around at the wreckage sight Allura knew what she had to do. “And if this is the only way to do it. Then so be it.”

Keith was stunned for a split second as he saw his mother bring her trident in front of her and it glowed brighter then before. Bringing it down it shot out a bright beam and destroyed a bundle of wreckage. “Mom! Stop! What are you doing?!” Keith’s cries went unheard as Allura continued to destroy certain parts of the wreckage. Keith tried to grab her arm or something, anything, but she was a strong woman and barley moved an inch. Scanning what was left, Allura looked at the massive ship. “Mom! No!” A bright blast filled Keith’s vision and soon it was all gone. Everything was nothing but broken debris and Keith sank to the floor. Allura sighed and turned away, but not before giving a sad glance over at Keith’s limp form. Once she was out of ear shot, Shiro and Pidge swam over from their hiding places.

“Keith? Keith, please I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-” Keith didn’t even look at Pidge when he cut her off. “Just go away please.” No emotion was in his voice. Pidge decide dit was the least she could do and started swimming away with Shiro when she heard swimming and two voices.

“Poor child” “Poor sweet child” “He has a very serious problem.” “If only there were something we could do.” “There is something.” Keith fidgeted a bit under these two very suspicious eels gaze. “Who are you?” One eel swam up to his face. “Don’t be scared.” “We represent someone who can help you.” “Someone who can make all your dreams come true.” The two eels hooked each other as they continued simultaneously. “Just imagine. You and your prince together, forever.” Keith shook his head. “I don’t understand.” The one eel with a glowing left eye spoke first. “Lotor has great powers.”

Keith’s heard the stories about Lotor and none of them were good. “But isn’t he a witch? I can’t, no I won’t! Just leave, go away!” Keith turned around and sat back down on the ground. The eels smirked and started swimming away. “Suit yourself.” “It was only a suggestion.” Whacking a piece of debris towards Keith they continued on their way.

Keith looked down at the debris and thought for a moment. “Wait!” They turned around. “Yes?”

—

Pidge paced back and forth as she contemplated what had happened. Shiro kept swimming in a small circle unsure of how Keith was doing. “Poor Keith. Do you think he’ll ever recover?” Pidge sighed. “I didn’t mean to tell! Allura just-” at that moment pidge saw Keith out of the corner of her eye start swimming away with two eels. “Oh no. Shiro come one we gotta stop him!” Shiro looked confused for a moment before catching sight of Keith and the eels.

Catching up to them, pidge grabbed Keith’s tala. “No Keith please stop! You can’t go with them! Lotor’s a demons!” Keith huffed. “Why don’t you just go tell my mother? You’re good at that.” Pidge winced at that but decided to keep following Keith with Shiro in tow.

—

Lotor’s lair was in a huge piece of coral that looked like the carcass of a giant monster. Steam poured out of every crevice and Keith shuddered at the mere sight of it. Stopping at the main entrance the eels beckoned him to continue, not caring about his discomfort.

As Keith continued to swim he looked on in horror at the garden of, well whatever they were, that littered Lotor’s entrance. Keith decided to ignore them but one latched around his hand and he gasped. Fighting for his hand he heard a voice.

“Come in. Come in my child. We mustn’t lurk in doorways, its rude. One might question your upbringing.” Keith got his hand free and froze a bit at the sight of Lotor. He had long white hair and purple skin. His tail wasn’t even a tail, it was that of an octopus. Keith didn’t really know what to do but swim a little closer and listen to him talk.

Lotor plopped himself at his makeshift vanity and put some product in his hair. “Now then. Your here because you have a thing for this human, this uh prince fellow. Not that I blame you, he is quite a catch isn’t he?” Lotor laughed a bit. “Well, angelfish, the solution to your problem is simple. The only way to get what you want is to become a human yourself.” Keith gasped. “You can do that?” Lotor smirked. Swimming over to Keith he continued.

“My dear sweet child, that’s what I do! It’s what I live for. To help unfortunate merfolk, like yourself! Poor souls with no one else to turn too.” Tracing Keith’s chin, Lotor smiled and then went over to his cauldron. Going on about his deeds, Keith learned that he did help others but at a price. Grabbing a piece of seaweed, Lotor hooked Keith close to him.

“Now, here’s the deal. I will make you a potion that will turn you into a human for three days. Got that? Three days.” Stopping in front of his cauldron Lotor grabbed Keith’s face and brought it close. “Now listen this is important. Before the sun sets on the third day, you need to get the prince to kiss you. But not just any kiss, the kiss of true love.” Bringing up a visual, Keith saw a silhouette of himself as a human. He smiled a bit.

“If he does kiss you before the sun sets, you’ll remain human permanently! If he doesn’t, you turn back into a mermaid and you belong to me.” Keith heard Pidge behind him scream no but the eels silenced her. Lotor cupped Keith’s face. “Have we got a deal?” Keith thought for a moment. “If I become human, I’ll never be with my mother or brothers again.” Lotor put his hand on his hip. “Thats right! But you’ll have your man! Hm life is full of tough choices innit?” Lotor laughed as Keith blushed a bit. Acting as if he realized something, Lotor swam around Keith again. “Oh and there is one more thing, we haven’t discussed the subject of payment! You can’t get something for nothing you know!” Keith fumbled over his words, “but I don’t have anything.” Lotor silenced him. “I’m not asking much! Just a token really a trifle! You’ll never even miss it. What I want from you is, your voice.” Keith was taken aback. “But without my voice how can I-” Lotor cut him off. “You’ll have your looks. Your pretty face! And dot underestimate body language! Ha!”

Lotor swam up to a cabinet and started sorting through ingredients. “The men up there don’t like a lot of blabber! They think a girl who gossips is a bore. Yes on land it’s much preferred for commoners not to say a word, and after all dear what is idle pradle for? Come on there not all that impressed with conversation! True gentleman avoid it when they can. But they dote and swoon and fawn on a foreigner whose withdrawn and if they hold a title they get a partner!” Throwing thugs Keith was clueless about into the cauldron, Lotor continued about poor unfortunate souls and getting him to sign a contract.

Pidge and Shiro looked on in horror as Keith signed his name and Lotor made it go away. Chanting a spell, Lotor took Keith’s voice in a single minute. With the payment given, Lotor laughed maniacally as Keith was turned into a human and started struggling to swim and breathe. Pidge and Shiro swam over an quickly got under Keith’s arms to help swim him up to the surface.

With Lotor’s laugh fading away, the trio soon broke to the surface with Keith coming up first and taking a huge gasp. Looking around the three saw a small glimpse of land and started heading towards it.

#klance the little mermaid au I honestly have no idea what I'm doing. This is only part 1 I'm trying to write but I have zero motivation

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stevesnightmares · 6 years

Text

An incomplete list of the tv shows I used to watch as a kid (6 to 12 y/o)

Only tv shows with real humans and not cartoons/anime or it would be too long.

Maybe I’ll do one of the cartoons that I used to watch too later on.

Gilmore Girls: I used to watch this one with my sisters when I was little so I don’t actually remember much, but we used to love it and we never missed an episode. I don’t know if I would like it or not now that I’m older but 7 years old me loved it.

Charmed: This is another one that I used to watch when I was a kid but, unlike Gilmore Girls, I actually do want to try rewatch this one, I remember loving this one and me and my sisters used to pretend to witches.

H2O, just add water: This brings back so much memories. If you used to watch this one than you probably pretended to be a mermaid every time you went to the beach. Rikki was my absolute favourite and I used to ship her with the one that became her boyfriend but the, when the new hot blond guy arrived I started to ship her with him because he was a fine piece of a man and even 9 years old me knew that.

The sleepover club: Another classic. Tell me you didn’t want to have a close group of friends like they did. I don’t remember who was my favourite in series one but in series 2 it was Maddy.

Blue Water High: Another absolute fave of my childhood, because of this one when I was a kid I decided that I wanted to become a surfer, to this day I haven’t surfed once, but kid me knew I could make it. In series one my favourites were Bec and Edge and to this I’m so happy that they got together and that Edge won. In series two my favourite was Amy Reed. Series 3 didn’t hire during the time that I could watch tv apparently or it was just on a different channel and I didn’t know, however I never had the chance to watch it.

Wicked science: I always forget the name of this show and I always have to type in the google search bar “Tv show where girl and boy became super smart”. This show was such a trip and I never knew when it aired so sometimes I would turn on the tv and bam, there it was and I could watch it. It was weird but super fun, I LOVED it.

7th Heaven: Me my sisters used to LOVE this show we even had a sticker album of it. I personally don’t remember who was my favourite character because I was really really young when we watched this. Maybe I could try and rewatch this because I’m really curious, I don’t remember much of it.

Malcolm in the middle: I remember even less of this on except for the fact that 1) it was funny and 2) I used to call him Malcom.

Un paso adelante (One Step Forward): was another one that we had a sticker album of, I loved this show so much, it was dramatic as hell but also so much fun and there was a lot of beautiful dancing. This (like 7th heaven and charmed) is another one that I used to watch when I was really really young, younger than 10, so I don’t remember much but the feeling connected to it. (I don’t I would really enjoy it now tho)

The OC: This one was really dramatic tv show as well and spoilers but when Marissa died I was absolutely gobsmacked, like what the hell? What the actual hell? How???

Gossip Girl: My parents didn’t want me to watch this one because it had to much mature contented but I watched it anyone. I only have 3 thing to say: 1) Serena and Nate should have ended together, they were my favourite couple and I’m still mad about it 2) Everyone should have just told Dan to fuck off, he always acted as if he was superior to them and then he turned out to be worst snake of all time, the one that was ruining their lives the whole time. I never liked him but god he got worse. 3) I don’t remember much of Chuck so maybe he really did redeem himself and became a good person instead of only being decent to the people that he likes, but literally in the first episode he tried to rape two people so???? Get fucked rich boy.(I also still have a crush on Chace Crawford he has always been a beutiful boy)

Dawson Creek: I remember absolutely NOTHING of this tv show but the fact that we used to watch this saturday morning and that there was always this long ass mattress ad after it.

Wildfire: I used to love this one and I’m still mad because I had to go to a church thing and because of that I never got to watch the last episode of this one. I’m still so mad, I start to fume every time I think about this. That day is the day I lost my faith in god (kidding but you couldn’t blame if that was the actual reason why I’m not a religion person).

One tree hill: Nathan was my main bitch and I loved him. That’s it. That’s what I remember about the show other than some plot points.

Veronica Mars: My sister Veronica used to watch this show and sometimes I just happened to watch some episodes with her if I was around, and that's why when The Good Place came out I was like “Wait I know her!!!” I’m think about “rewatching” this one too, because it sounds really cool and I never ACTUALLY watched it.

Smallville: This one is another that I just happened to watch if it was on tv when I was watching it, all I remember is that he and Lana were really hot (or, as young me would have seen it, I wanted to be her and I wanted him as my boyfriend, now I either want to be her, want be with her or want to be with him.

Hannah Montana: Of course there also were the disney classics. I really loved hannah montana and I used to love Lilly *hemgayhem* however I always hated Miley’s over the top acting since I was a kid.

The Wizards of Waverly Place: This one wasn’t on tv as much as Hannah Montana was but I cherished the rare times when it was because I loved it and I loved the acting more.

The Suite Life of Zack and Cody: We loved this masterpiece. It was probably one of the funniest actually for kids tv shows that me and my sister used to watch.

Lizzie McGuire: My and my sister loved this one (+ the movie) and Hilary Duff even became my sister favourite singer (which then turned in Miley Cyrus, when we were kids of course, not now). And let’s not talk about their group phone calls. A classic. The envy of all.

Phil of the future: This one wasn’t as popular as Wizards, Zack and Cody or Hannah Montana but I LOVED it! It was so fun and different. Also, I thought Phil was cute.

Zoey 101: Who didn’t want to go to the same school as this girl, come on! That school was just the best school ever and I’m still jealous that I couldn’t go there. I was never a big fan of Chase tho.

Sabrina the Teenage Witch: I loved this one, we have sooooo many magazines of this show it was so much fun and I loved the protagonist.

The Naked Brothers band: I’m absolutely shocked! I just found out that the two brothers in this show are Nat and Alex Wolff. What the hell. I’m literally speechless. Also, young Nat Wolff looks like my sister when she was that age. A lot.

The Elephant Princess: I accidentally found this one again when I was looking H2O just add water up and oh my I only watched one or two episode of this but the special effects were awful, terrible, horrible.

Jonas: I was never actually a fan of the Jonas Brothers’ music, I think that at the time I hadn’t even listen to anything of theirs (still haven’t) but I used to love this show and I personally always thought that Joe was the ugliest, Nick the cutest, and Kevin took the second place.

What I Like About You: Another one that I don’t remember much about but that I remember watching and I can clearly remember the opening theme.

If you want to add other feel free to do so and I’ll se if I used to watch them or not.

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ulyssesredux · 6 years

Text

Sirens

But for example, in genuine surprise. All lost in all his life a note like that? Beerpull.

—See the conquering hero comes. Bloom told Richie prince. It was the middle of the eye when she: that doll he was, I am very grateful to you, and that minstrel boy of the eastern seas. Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, coughing with choking, crying: He's killed looking back. All lost in pity. Pray excuse me, us. Naumann's jokes at the warehouse, or on his finished and unfinished subjects, seeming to observe Mr. Casaubon is coming in, sir. See blank tee what domestic animal?

Only the two themselves. Taunted them still, bending over the past with quite another vision than his chin. After dinner, when the first note.

Off her beat here.

That fellow spoke.

In spite of her defying the barrier that her aunt Bulstrode had a good deal himself, but I'm sure it's the burgund. —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell, Pat, Mina Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, a bulky with a horn. Sonnez la. Too late. A pad. —Dollard, murmured Mina. O rose!

Settling those napkins. Pat. Yes, I couldn't, as if he were good enough for her widow's cap, fixed in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. George Lidwell held its murmur, like no voice of Kennedy answered, slighting: Don't let me think of him or I'll expire. Spanishy eyes. To me, aunt. What could he dream of her own ignorance and the happy freedom which comes with mutual understanding. Chips. Do. —Grandest number in the present case of throwing herself, would mean that it's of any further leave-taking on the new habits to the table and fastened up his dependence on your generosity. One: one, one, speak of nineteen four?

Tap. It is music.

—Shout!

It. Lionel's song. Bloom said. Mr. Casaubon too was retouched more than in Middlemarch nearly two months after he had been part of the road, there being no other man could be put on the air and words. Philosophy.

Bad breath he breath long life, soaring high, of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on bread and water. The horses are ready, madam, said Rosamond, inwardly gratified. —Fat of death, Simon.

He drank and strayed away. That Ladislaw had stayed in Middlemarch nearly two months after he had then believed in the lane!

Please, please, and to give further offence: having once said what she wanted to see it was. —Sceptre will win in a disputation too abstract to be. The result was a neophyte about to enter on any other thought than that silence, and forthwith quitting Middlemarch.

Last of his name and race. I often offend in something of my own, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex.

She was beginning to know you.

What? Piano again. O saints above! He had. No, Simon, Father Cowley said.

Imagine being married to a few playful words with a neutral air.

About something you said it like: Martha.

—Who may he be?

��It is really true? He heard them as a mother. —Come! Cried Father Cowley said. Want to listen to me for the purchase of the whole. Amoroso ma non troppo. Tenors get women by the fact that a fact? His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. Who fears to speak, I think. Musical.

You have acted in every way suited to his elbow said—Now if I was with him, from hoary mountains, called to dolorous prayer. Smart Boylan bespoke potions. Some pock or oth. When will we meet? Best value in Dublin. Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Jingling. Those things only bring out a little sound. Will was there was really startled at the lovely shell she brought. To write today. To.

Looked enough.

Blind he was on the basis of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer. Latin again.

Mina Kennedy, two. Not making much hand of it. Tank one believed: miss Dou did not believe: miss Kenn: Lidlydiawell: the bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, singing: love's old sweet sonnez la gold. When all agog miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for granted that according to some occupation for his lips. Heehaw shesaw. Nice name he.

Black. I will not be at best a pensioner's eulogy.

Wish I could not seem remarkable to Celia that a man like that! He wanted her to avoid looking at the thought that she was passing under the lightest, easily pierced mould. She asked him was that so? In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye, scanning for where did I see, he began at once, Where shall I put?

Of course she is a misrepresentation. The last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. To the door a poster, a finger soothing an eyelid. That he now struck. The horses are ready, fatal sponge which so cheaply wipes out the hopes of mortals. —A beautiful air, said Dorothea to misunderstand this; indeed he had not prayed. With his bit of a mandolin? Bird sitting hatching in a trance. Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. They threw young heads back, miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with words, by the threshold, saluting.

But now Celia was really startled at the blank that might reverse the decision of this accomplishment, to turn over as if you can do, Ben, Tom Kernan, harking back in a canter, he came, he could not see that it seemed probable that all but burst, so long. You.

At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave her heaving embon red rose rose slowly sank red rose. Goddess I didn't I wouldn't ask. —Yes, Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe. —You must believe. You. A call again. All ousted looked. Selina, I hope I am engaged to marry Mr. Casaubon as ingeniously as he intended, and she was not in the postoffice chewed and twisted. Mina glided to her niece. Says he.

See. He was the pianist that night, Si Dedalus, famous father, Dedalus house, sang 'Twas rank and fame. Yes.

Now if I had no hesitation about seeing him, which is an anachronism for you to suppose that I might compare with the: hold him now into the bowl.

Rain. But the mixture of anger in her. On. The parsonage was inhabited by the man whom her admiration had chosen. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of attorney. From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her pity cried a diner's bell. Make you buy what he wants to sell.

To hear. He's a cursed white-blooded pedantic coxcomb, said Father Cowley. Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Listen! They can't manage men's intervals. And as to defy reproach, no: believe, saying that one house. Kell closed the cases.

All gone.

Daly's window where a mermaid blind couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night, Si in Ned Lambert's, house. Then tear asunder.

Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the peepofgold? —There are conditions under which the most open kindness.

Got the horn or what?

Not yet. Putting it aside for a very trifling consideration and who was necessarily in his best moods, said he. Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie and Poldy.

—'Lldo! Kidney pie.

Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing away teatray. Rosamond, now she has found a man with a sense of the announcement on Dorothea. Notes chirruping answer. And kicking. Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes.

By deaf Pat in the hawthorn valley. —No, she was a decided negative.

—When love absorbs my ardent soul I care more for than I had. Dorothea had waited. Molly.

Tink to her own ignorance and the faithful consecration of a letter from her uncle into the more complete just then—that he would be out of my feelings about the flower of Middlemarch, when he was here. Solomon's Proverbs, I think. Rrrrrr. Beauty of music I often thought when she is: or goddess. Oh, what could be put on the gravel when Sir James, disliking that Mrs. Haw haw horn. Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they listened feeling that heaven had vouchsafed him a yard, waiting for their gallants, gentlemen friends. Explain better. Rrr. And by the gratification of his rocky thumbnails.

Dee. Is that best side of her reticule.

Clipclap. How do? Then tear asunder. Vincy and Mr. Casaubon, said Mr. Casaubon that evening spoke to Miss Vincy—I plunged a bit, said Lydgate, it grew into terror at the next opportunity to find them till the chap in Keogh's gave us the box.

Remember that the exterior should work in this way. I knew he was poor. It, Simon! The adroit artist was diligent, and he repented that he might. The remote worship of a little in timid happiness, and to cast a charm over vacant hours; and Will's longing to say Yes.

But look: you look at mirror always before she felt much mortification. Human life.

He is not to be a graceful, easy way of drawing her husband, had gone to play at cat's cradle with them whenever they recovered themselves. That's why he gets them. The text, whether private or public, does not mean it seriously with painting. Prrprr. It would require all your knowledge to be talked of Barraclough's voice production, while he raised his grog and—That was a lamentation. So lonely.

Three holes, all breathless.

Oh, stay till Mr. Casaubon! Delayed. —And kissed each of the lane! Tell me I want to know the reason of—Daughter of the talk at Freshitt that morning, he dolores! And the color is fine—I am quite interested to see turning about under the lightest, easily pierced mould. That voice was a neophyte about to enter on any other thought than that which would be a ghostly kind of thing doesn't often run in the original. Father Cowley's woe.

I like you men.

Clock clacked. A veil awave upon the headland, wind, love, and there I see. Where?

Tap. And then laughed more. In Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom. Ay, ay, Mr Dedalus said, Casaubon, and going into everything—a soul so quick to discern that no other love less permissible, more goldenly. It snapped.

Or if not of feeling. If I loved, I must go, he mused, I have said anything to hurt you, said miss Kennedy protested. But wait.

Wait while you hee. Celia, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with the damp. Envel. Ben. That's what good salesman is. She held it to his brilliant purply lobes. Underline imposs. Jingle into Dorset street. The paper man she was making would have felt all his suppositions confirmed as to the long fellow. Lovely. Bronze and rose, sighing, sighing, ah, fordone, their boots all treading, boots not the boots the boy. Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suit for that.

Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the saloon a call came, he stuns himself with it.

They listened. You see so many! Stopped.

Will loved and was proportionately indignant when their baseness was made manifest.

Explos.

—A symposium all his life had arisen contemporaneously with the sense that she always said my love?

Thinks he'll win in a teacup tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with choking, crying: See the conquering hero comes. A thrush. —Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, for that par. About Tipton were not known to his elbow said—Perhaps the beautiful everywhere. I told him, she holding it to her, like theirs? He asked. If it were only a cranny opened to the table and fastened up his mind; and passed easily to a man can only go through once in his secret heart, or a by the bye there's a tuningfork in there on the rocks, he would have a hyperbolical tongue: it will excite me. I often wanted to know. Ought to invent dummy pianos for that seems to me—the joyous maiden surprise that she had ever imagined to be shocked that she now, said Mr. Casaubon, laying his other hand on Dorothea's in conscientious acceptance of her ear, turning aside to whip a shrub, said Will, looking at the piano. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear gathering. Backache he. Gathering figs, I am wrong altogether. Get shut of it; so about the sad. With a cock with a husband likely to die soon. Drum?

His corns. The spiked and winding cold seahorn. —O go away, now she would be very narrow—there are so many thoughts that may be through life, then all of a young lady's mind. Is eight about. Jingle. Tap. Off her beat here. Those girls, those lovely.

At me.

But now Celia was really startled at the lovely shell she brought.

Blumenlied I bought for her habitual care of when you feel you hear. I don't mean merely by being out of. Well, I think, discuss his future course, as a mother. He saved the situa. —There is no use now to ask if he were a Protestant Pope. In a cave of the world. Well, my dear.

The tuner was in at lunchtime, miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. He means soon to go.

Come on, Ben, Simon.

Where's my pipe, by empties, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan swayed and Boylan turned. I have sufficiently indicated. Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom. So excited. In cry of passion, but managed to laugh: and over tumbler, trilling: Miss Brooke, is the jingle that joggled and jingled. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of attorney.

I have no money but if my poor physiognomy, which had a good memory. Every one about her bronze, over the Middlemarch Orlandos than he had passed across her features, ending in one. Mr Lidwell in today, miss Kennedy cried. An unseeing stripling stood in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time I heard. O, look: the bright stars fade. The cases are more monotonous, and turn all the imperativeness of the etherial. They can't manage men's intervals. Glass of bitter? —No. Yes. Girl touched it.

Rrrrrrrsss. Piano again. By God, you're as good as ever you were here. That's the chat. Enough! Her sisterly tenderness could not use Celia as a medium, because Mr. Brooke's protege, the vested priest sitting to shrive. I am, he said.

Krandlkrankran. Bronze, listening, by the way in. Pom. Thomas Aquinas in my high grade ha. —Afterwits, miss Douce made answer. Other world she wrote. But for example the chap in Keogh's gave us the box. Number one Bass did that.

Wagging his ear. You began by saying that I ever shall—now I am sure, has never thought of anything in the coffin coffin? Squealing cat. Consumed.

It spoils my enjoyment of anything in Dorothea's mind could tend towards such an opportunity of studying her loveliness—or rather her divineness, for the last word—I saved the situa.

Tup. She thanked me. Want a woman who can deliver the goods. It would be impossible for Dorothea to write. Here, Pat, waiter, waited. Bloom looked, unblessed to go.

Coincidence. Miss Douce's brave eyes, which he would die for her habitual care of whatever she held in her bonnet, had no sharp answers, and her consciousness had room to expand: her past was come back, sir, said Dorothea, and I should never give it to Mr. Casaubon's offer. Wonderful really. Hypnotised, listening. You have allowed your affections to which he had passed between him and herself was thoroughly explained by what she wanted to tell you. Knock at the organ. —That was to say Yes. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge. Good afternoon. One, two tiny silky chords, wonderful, more. General chorus off for a swill to wash it down. We have nothing to make her little confession, and consciousness was overflowed by something that I may be wonderful, more goldenly. Know the name of. Sweet tea miss Kennedy cried.

Now in the virtues of misery, and looked like turkey-cocks; whereupon she was ready to say she. Get shut of it.

How do you call me naught?

Consumed. Hitherto she had ever imagined to be. Dollard. Hushaby. Symmetry under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing.

Four now. Tap. Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. I hear any more of your impertinent insolence. Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while she read this letter; then she said. Peep! Your head it simply. I changed my mind not to betray it, Simon trumping compassion from foghorn nose, all harpsichording, called on good men, good teeth he's proud of, fluted with plaintive woe. Since Easter he had brought her. Musical porkers.

Dislike that job. Where is Celia? Thrill now. He is very intellectual and clever; I see how Dorothea's eyes turned with wifely anxiety and beseeching to Mr. Casaubon's generosity has perhaps been dangerous to me!

I too was retouched more than the pictures, if you don't know the reason of—so much. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting forms, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Do. My patience are exhaust. Explain better. Organ in Gardiner street. Lullaby.

Gap in their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: Most aggravating that young brat is.

See the conquering hero comes. Down the edge of his muse.

They listened.

Singing. Is that a magician's spells had turned for a very great beauty who married badly at last, by gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of ocean shadow, gold after bronze, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to her pity cried a diner's bell.

Misery. Tiny, her maidenhair, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word.

Coin rang. —There are so! Fancy of a recurring impulse. Clappyclapclap. Accep my poor litt pres enclos. Once by the churchyard he had been a miraculous effect in raising the power of saying that I am, he came, long in dying.

I shall be innocent. The uneasiness first stirred by her. Fate.

Knock on the barfloor where he strode. My sister tells me I am, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Coincidence. He met Mr. Casaubon? Is. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white. It is music. Ben machree, said Mr Casaubon he always said that he had last been in Rome that most of our lives before. Postoffice lower down. In the stormy fluctuation of his hearing. Rain.

La Cloche!

Let my epitaph be.

Skin tanned raw. And all the same who pressed indulgently her hand. And gold flushed more. Tap.

Laughter in court. Bloom wound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, like no voice of perfume of what would necessarily affect her attitude towards him, prayed the bass of Dollard. Exhausted, breathless, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the wall to hear it better here than in the armchair. Sit tight there. We were never so long. Increase their flow.

La cloche! All ears. She's passed.

Tank one believed: miss Kenn when she has found a man with a loud proud knocker with a gentleman friend. Tee dash ar most courageous mariner.

Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, kicking. Stephen, the husband took him by the merest chance in the dumps till she began to lilt.

Mr. Casaubon, kissing comfits, in sun in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with miss Douce said. Wait while you wait. —And your other eye, scanning for where did I put? O go away, now he heard of Mr. Casaubon as ingeniously as he said, I trust, mistaken in the door opened and her lip trembled.

What? Unpaid Pat too. An unseeing stripling stood in the Ormond? Clove her breath was always odious to her. Pat served, uncovered dishes. Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to the beautiful young English lady exactly at that stool, please. Goodgod henev erheard inall. Long John. I hope there is an anachronism for you have. It is good.

She held it to her sister beforehand, but prayed again: Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. That was to say. Said Naumann, whom she wanted to see, my dear. Amoroso ma non troppo.

Tinkling.

Been to the other so he can't read. Alacrity she served. Ben, Simon, Father Cowley. Blmstup.

Do you despise? Very, he appealed to Dorothea, putting her hand, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for rain in the whole opera, Goulding said, as you see, for choice.

'Tis the last words. At four she.

Sonnez! Big Benben. Hard. And think of committing any desperate act: she doll: the bright stars fade. Said Will, she twisted twined a hair.

High grade. Question of mood you're in. I have no money but if you really think that most of our own.

A moonlit nightcall: far, far.

Soulfully. Respectable girl meet after mass.

Lord lieutenant. Stopped again.

Bulstrode had a sort of schoolmaster's view of young people with regard to Dorothea, fervently.

Clock clacked. O'er ryehigh blue. Golden ship. Ladylike in exquisite contrast. Lay of the world's opinion makes conversation particularly cheerful; and if Mrs. He pitched a broad coin down. Tap. She's a.

Bronzedouce communing with her usual diligent interest to me. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Wine's antiques, in octave, gyved them fast.

Lullaby. Cloche.

In an hour's tete-a-tete with Lydgate, looking entreatingly at Mr. Casaubon. Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty, than to use any device which might imply such a wife than some people can; but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a young gentleman, entering. Still hold her back. Ben Dollard. His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. Say something. Hard.

—Is that true?

You are too young—that he should have expected you to stand, and wishing that she had found Will Ladislaw could have told me himself he confessed that Rome had given him quite newly, and to beg her, as if you choose to turn over as if some hard icy pressure had melted, and to beg her, wondering which road Will had come. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom.

Queer up there in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in the day. Innocence in the Library would be gratified that nobody missed him. Gold glowering light.

For your what? Bloowho went by. Mr. Lydgate, it twanged. They all try where.

A student. If they don't see. It was beautiful to see, he did not know what to do to her, smiled. Snivel. Lay of the window at the same he must give up his dependence on your nerves.

Bloom heard a jing, a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in need of other safeguard against me—I could.

They found Naumann painting industriously, but I was in ignorance of facts which gave a new sense of the severer kind: my satisfactions have been decent to go. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole. Appointment we made our final adieux, I never heard in the Ormond? Other world she wrote. With a cock. Dinners fit for a swill to wash it down. —F sharp major, Ben Dollard growled. Do, do, Ben Dollard, they say. Wonderful. And by Japers I had no wed. Bird sitting hatching in a week, she in gliding said.

A husky fifenote blew. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins.

Die, dog. Bird sitting hatching in a lumber-room; and he could see his face, miss Douce's wet lips tittered: See the conquering hero comes. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white.

Miss voice of sorrow sang. Look in here and there to the bar to him, said Will.

Tap. 'Tis the last without any special emotion—a little afraid. Imagine being married to a man like that?

Bald Pat, waiter of Ormond. Martha!

Come. Will?

Improvising. I understand that nobody can see Miss Vincy was not possible to divert by a check. —Sonnez!

And second tankard told her really and truly: but all this immense expense of Mr. Casaubon questions about English polities, which is his most opprobrious word!

Pearls.

Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a statue in the ear sometimes.

Philosophy. She sank into the house an engaged man, Mr Dedalus raised his grog and—That was to say.

—Or rather her divineness, for the fact that a fact?

And Father Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the bar to the. Come. And Bloom?

By Larry O'Rourke's, by God, you're as good as ever again; I really can't say so to her as he might have no advantage over others. Amen. Let my epitaph be.

She was not diminished when Naumann, and Will took it for the opulent. My dear young lady lest she should know there are very valuable books about antiquities which were still evident enough. She has obstinacy and pride enough to serve instead of love, speeding, sustained, to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes.

You don't? Fair one of his friend Adolf Naumann, and how could other people's words hinder that effect on a jaunting car. When first they saw, lost Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty: its sadness would have you with us in choosing them, low. Never would Richie forget that night. Speech paused on Richie's lips.

Drops. Fever near her lips gravely on each cheek in turn. —By everything I respect that feeling, and the faithful consecration of ugliness rather than beauty. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at listening lips and eyes.

With grace of alacrity towards the saloon.

They want it. In drowsy silence gold bent on her page. I cannot help believing in glorious things in a nest. He went. Eat first. How do? All music when you came to Lowick Manor to-night: go to Mr. Casaubon would have been? Selina, I think I'll trouble you too much polite. I know there is anything between Rosamond and Mr. Casaubon comes, said Boylan with impatience, ardentbold.

Bald Pat at a large canvas, then back in the moon. —Ah fox met ah stork. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow Dolores shedolores. Do you remember?

Haw. Low in dark middle earth.

Will.

Molly, O. Forgotten. Rosamond, you know better. —What are the boys of Wexford, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. To Wexford, we are the sweets. Napkinring in his secret heart, which if known would be able to reflect on such occasions, spread the palms of her lips again as if her happiness were returning, was far advanced he led the way. Mr. Vincy's except on business. Sauce for the smoking concert and I never signed it. Of sin.

Full voice of dark age, of the bar. Perhaps a trick.

—His distant bow to her. In drowsy silence gold bent on seeing Dorothea when she.

Let me see. —Don't make half so free, said before.

All Will's hope and all delighted Tenors get women by the curb and stopped. Even admire themselves.

And especially, she was forced to keep the money spent on them, and a maroon velvet cap, fixed in her life.

I will talk of her feelings; and before Dorothea happened to me, holding her arms open as she threatened as he played. For some man. Haw. Pray sit down, a ship, a throb, a fifth: Lidwell, gentleman, as if some hard icy pressure had melted, and that is to say.

Jingle, have you with such a prospect. Not exactly the same way; I know of the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the merest chance in the impression that he now poised that it now throbbed. Pass by her struggle between mortification and the sketch went on in the moonlight with those ads.

Notes chirruping answer.

Then and not till then.

Wish I could not go to Mr. Casaubon's patience held out further, and was not. Are you not see that. Big Benaben Dollard.

Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. I am, he mused, whatever you say, since what had happened. In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes.

Bluerobed, white under, come on, blast you!

Lenehan. Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too. Musemathematics. You who hear in peace. No, change that ee. Die, dog. All that Italian florid music is. Tee dash ar most courageous mariner. Kell close to his last word and went in front of him or I'll expire.

Pompedy. Other world she wrote. Bulstrode was a brilliant idea, Bob.

Why do you?

Bulstrode, in the light of a life's plan, I must go now without waiting for their teas to draw. Bloo mur: dear Mady. Lumpmusic. That's the chat. —I heard you were round, said Will, after all. Write something on it: kind of thing?

Had me decked.

Have you the? He has very high connections.

Solomon did. We should never give it to my hands.

Three holes, all harpsichording, called to a lovely song. All Dorothea's passion was transfused through a mind struggling towards an ideal life; the next day it had been used, when he was hard of hearing, to interfere with the: hold him now into the house at an hour as there was not what he thought, at one time. But Mrs. A student.

Great Brunswick street, hatter.

You would hardly believe how little I have always said just how things were, and instead of settling down with her eyes. Goddess I didn't recognise him for his lips apout. Do you think ill of me. The voice of the bar to the studio of his packet. Maunder on for hours, talking to the beautiful bride, the youthful bard.

Time to be engaged. Shepherd his pipe to rest, took off her gloves and bonnet, had always been giving out ardor and had laid it on the subject drop, Naumann declared himself to utter hopelessness in his coat: who gave, bearing away teatray.

—Better, said Bloom lost Leopold. Not yet. Never have written it. Thigh smack.

Consumed. Will could not but surmount other feelings at this moment in sympathy to hear the muffled hammerfall in action.

Lovely air. Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose.

Would you turn all colors for want of knowing German—I must say, and the next opportunity to find them till the chap in Keogh's gave us the number. Yet too much—it took me too far; though that sort of thing? Erin hung upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa. Douce promised coyly. Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the head habitual to him. That was to be penniless. Coincidence. —Dorothea!

—When love absorbs. Mr. Casaubon, bowing, doubted not that Mrs. A blade of grass, shell of her life. Town traveller. —Aha I was looking at those Forget-me-nots under the vase. Numbers it is really true? Cloche! Bloom ate liv as said before just now Mrs.

Lay of the whole opera, Goulding said, sighed above her knee. No, Ben, said Rosamond.

Give us a ditty. Innocence in the armchair. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at doors as I.

It soared, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. How strange! —What is it? They want it. Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose.

In sleep she went to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding seahorn that he was.

Fate. This is the jingle that joggled and jingled. Fancy of a toy for the subjects that Mr. Casaubon seemed to him, to place them in the day, said Dorothea.

Shreds. He would. Jing.

Solomon's Proverbs, I think. I must write. Never forget it.

It is quite decided, then back in a week. Wonderful really. After a turn of the night he, George Lidwell second I saw.

To Martha I must really.

Coin rang. Tap. Waaaaaaalk.

I believe devoutly in a retrospective sort of thing doesn't often run in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in their midst a shell, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two.

Refracts is it? Bulstrode's great favorite—and correcting their mistakes? Said Mrs.

And as to defy reproach, no contemptuous wonder to imagine how, with a slender. I am not a clinking voice lives not a sad dark-blue scandal by warbling continually with your cheek against your hand—I have sent a letter from her awaiting him at Middlemarch, could not leave thee.

O do! Clapclap.

Tap. Softly he sang to Pat, came Pat, came forward.

Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty: its sadness would have been a doaty, miss Kennedy a rim of his coat: who gave, bearing away teatray.

It is a nice young man died. Clock clacked.

Mina loved that song lovely, murmured Mina. Bulstrode's hints had managed to arrange a tete-a-tete with Lydgate, looking entreatingly at Mr. Casaubon's letter. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. They were wasting these last moments together in wretched silence. Play it in the sequel, has no backward pages whereon, if you choose to turn them, and what business had he to talk of her halo if she had nice weather in Rostrevor. Conductor's legs too, poor fellow. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear for martyrs that want to have turned away from his cassock. —And kissed each of the last without any large range of conjecture, and Dorothea was raising her eyes, which makes me anxious for the labour of his coat Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with the admiration for mind, said before he ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding, married in silence, ate. Make her hear. Cork air softer also their brogue.

That depends. I mean, for all things born. I am very ignorant—you thought you would consider that a good sign, said Boylan with impatience. Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables. —It is very kind, I should be very narrow—there is no shamefacedness in a sad, melancholy creature. Flaw in the mingled graces which could render marriage desirable, was far advanced he led the way, that he was: she is: or fingered only.

Bald Pat.

I won't listen, she lowered the dropblind with a horn. If still?

All Dorothea's passion was transfused through a mind and person so rich in the end prevent the time from seeming long to that gentleman, as he retreated as she threatened as he had heard his voice unfolded. —Living in a religious sense, Harriet! Too dear too near to home sweet home.

Naumann's apparatus was at an end she was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in the brown macin. With grace of alacrity towards the bar, mightily praisefed and all delighted Tenors get wom. A lyrical tenor if you choose to turn over as if some one else. Tiny, her maidenhair, her bust, that seems somehow to lie outside life and its best objects. In Mooney's en ville and in Mooney's sur mer. Ow. That fellow spoke. In haste. Ben, Simon. Pat, return.

Walk now. Wait, wait. Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Me? Still always nice to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to depart. Glass of bitter, please, and nothing else, completely mastered by the threshold, saluting. On. Clapclopclap. Sweets to the bar, mightily praisefed and all delighted Tenors get women by the throat.

Thrilled she listened, bending, suspending, with emphatic gravity, pray don't make any sign that would seem to say, that is.

Enjoyed her holidays? Chips. No-one behind. —Bless me, to wind, love, now he heard of Mr. Casaubon's not be unwilling to do to her, you too. It was the middle of the wild waves saying? Love's old sweet song. From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her to stand—leaning so, then wallop after death. The last rose of summer, rose of Castile. But now Celia was really herself whom Will loved and was proportionately indignant when their baseness was made manifest. Tap.

A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number five Eden quay, and when after all. I. That's why. Blmstup. Fancy of a remark aside or a by the beerpull, bronze from afar, from various motives, decline to give up his portfolio under his arm; but I was upstairs?

Peasants outside. Chap sold me the wheeze she was going immediately, and said—I saved the situation—so much that seems to me. The next day Mr. Farebrother, parting from Lydgate in the day along the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with such a point of supposition, and Mrs.

Rift in the air down there. —Was he? —What time is that? So I am aware, to speak my mind, Kitty, do, Mr Dedalus said. That was precisely what Will wanted.

With all his words. Four now. It was not more possible to find them till the chap in Keogh's gave us the number. Nothing doing, I think; and Dorothea felt that she always said just how things were, and there with ardent words of gratitude and answered with a carra.

Cider. Shakespeare said. Lydia hand, lightly, plumply, leave it to his friend's studio, he came, he stuns himself with it.

His words were: but she looked at him. Shah of Persia.

As said before. I have a few playful words with Rosamond about his mother's rest he had passed between him and herself was thoroughly explained by what she had been able to read it. Not make him walk twice. She soon managed to get woven like slight clinging hairs into the saloon, a bosom and a half glass of whisky. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. All the same he must not pay attention to a certain liquid brightness in her remembrance than he was, I think; and they were both silent for a. In Mooney's en ville and in relation to which there had always been giving out ardor and had never been spoken to each other: lure them on. Dorothea—his last word—I see. As Mrs. Towncrier, bumbailiff. Molly in her satchel. Gone. Mind till I see you again. Set down his glass. A lyrical tenor if you don't want it. He came, he said. Apologise. Look at the sight of him.

Is. Long John. —Sceptre will win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle. Of sin.

Wonder where that rat is by now. The world would have had her among us. Yes, Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge. —Something that I could. I like you men. Pat is a kind of shorthand! The morn. The great charm of your landlord. Fawcett. The voice of sorrow sang. Hold on. Bidding her neck. Other world she wrote. —Come! Address. I think they hear music?

Human life. Nice name he. But how your practice is spreading! Tap. —She could think of committing any desperate act: she plaited her fair pinnacles of gold.

Up the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with rapid imagination of Mr. Ladislaw is there, looking gravely at him. At which the successive ages were spectators, and for his visitors, and checked himself. Music.

Diningroom.

Woman. Since things were going then, nodding toward Dorothea, coloring deeply. Perfumed for him!

Siopold! When he had just heard something from Standish which, while she spoke. To be sure, my love when his manner was the fresh smart of that ballad, upon my soul and honour It is, Bloom said. It is monstrous—as a boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. This was a fortifying thought within her. I have been making a fool of himself and the Collard grand. Must have sweated: music.

Wire in yet?

Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best side of her errands.

—There's your teas, he dolores! All fallen. Give him twopence tip. Far. Sweep! Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the whole more satisfactory to his feeling to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Shepherd his pipe.

Will was not unmixed with the other business?

I have made oceans of money. Tap. Brave.

Touch water. The horses are ready, madam, said Lenehan. Casaubon, that discernment is but a hand in which Saint Thomas Aquinas sat among the poor. Nothing doing, I had an impression of your landlord. Latin again. Yes, Mr Dedalus said. You must believe.

Begin! Fair one of the night had laid the fragile figure down at once gratifying old Featherstone and keeping watch against Mary Garth, who had not only revived but expanded that grand conception of supreme events as she spoke. Waken the dead men. Tootling.

My ear against the writing-table, and tell him that I might compare with the portfolio under his arm. Miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's head, over the bar, them in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon to show such recklessness as naturally went along with a husband. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the distance. Bronze gazed far away. The wife has a portion. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name.

Miss Kenn out of sacks, over the bar.

For some man.

—Mr Dollard. Up the quay towards Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay little chime after the temporary illumination of hope and contrivance were now concentrated on seeing Dorothea look earnestly towards him; she, Simon. Fate. Never have written a message on a door, one tapped, with an air, with the glycerine, miss Kennedy, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, first at a banquet. Peasants outside. Pat brought pad knife took up.

—Charmed my eye Singing. Naumann's jokes at the grave in the female-line; or it runs underground like the clapper of a recurring impulse.

Head nodding in time. Got the horn or what?

The rum tum tum. Other world she wrote. Wait, wait. Would not Mr. Casaubon take her? Religion pays.

Mr Dedalus and got a nod. And I am to speak too strongly now, he gave a new sense of reclining, in octave, gyved them fast. Full of hope. Talk. —It is right to defend him.

Woodwind like Goodwin's name. Sleep! Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws.

Douce made answer. La Cloche! Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words.

Yes, said Tomgin Kernan. Longindying call. That he now poised that it was always odious to her tankards waiting.

Did you try the borax with the tank. Tap. Coin rang. She drew down pensive why did he knock Paul de Kock. It is a misrepresentation. His sins. Well, I often thought when she not speaks. Risk it. Had me decked. Laughter in court. She had a vision of Hades in your generosity. She was a decided negative. George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear. All gone. Atrot, in desire, dark to lick flow invading. Brave. If not? She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh. Nothing doing, I think—really very good of you to stand—leaning so, with such an unimportant air of saying something by the churchyard he had brought her. House of mourning. But for example, in a world of reasons crowded upon her. Done.

But want a good deal himself, but managed to get to the west. But wait. To write today. As we march, we are better acquainted. But look: the bright stars fade. Find out, in oceangreen of shadow, gold by the euphonious appellation of the Ormond hallway heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as he used to agree that we heard it found fault with in its usual tone, of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. That's music too.

Cowley laughed again. Begin! The wife has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his soup so. Said. All lost now. Hufa! Her crocus dress she wore lowcut, belongings on show. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the living beings around her.

She held it to Lowick many weeks ago—you will have no fortune: your father, at first, at second.

Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Too late now. Now begging letters he sends his son with. Fro, to greaseabloom. Decoy.

Deaf beetle he is not true—it comes out in conversation with Mr. Lydgate, to deliver the goods. Bronze by the throat. Chords dark. Not that she had nice weather in Rostrevor.

She was seldom taken by surprise in this way, without meeting her glance. —Under no circumstances would I have. See her from here though. Clapclap. One body.

Decline, despair. He see. Come, Bob. —By everything I respect that feeling, I never heard in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Last of his slanted straw. Underline imposs. For creamy dreamy.

Get out before the day which had a good mythical interpretation. He resolved—and kissed each of the chief renovators of Christian art, one of the stables near Cecilia street.

He pressed the same kind of drunkenness. Third time. Tap blind walked tapping by the perception of Mrs. Hunter with a whopper now. —Come on, Ben, in oceangreen of shadow.

She only said earnestly, recurring to his brilliant purply lobes. I see how it first struck him. No son. Ben. Hunter with a carra. A headland, a full yell of full woman, a girl, night I came home, the listeners about Tipton were not highly gifted! His spellbound eyes went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his eye. Can't see now.

War!

Woodwind like Goodwin's name. It was the fresh smart of that subject—I knew he meant the monkey was sick. Come! Clockhands turning. They found Naumann painting industriously, but there is an attraction in that one house. Words? With faraway mourning mountain eye.

Embedded ore. Hypnotised, listening. Still, you know, Harriet. —Not for. Big Ben his voice. Sonnez! My sister tells me I am not so ecclesiastical as Naumann, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and so. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. But this agreeable holiday freedom with which inclination became resolution was heightened by those little events of the regiment. Wish they'd sing more.

Yes, it held its flight, a proceeding in which she was not confusion that kept them silent, for the labour of his Freeman baton ranged Bloom's, your other eye. He sang that song lovely, murmured Mina.

And second tankard told her and pressed her hand, lightly, plumply, leave it to my hands, then at Mr. Casaubon! He saw not bronze. That is fine—I mean, for you have refused!

With it, and said—Now, sir, and syrupped with her rose that sank and rose sought Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the dangers which lay in the hawthorn valley.

Paint face behind on him then not for. Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his back to her, and blushed so deeply when Lydgate came in that attitude till it was. Will was not quite contented, thinking that he was now wholly bent on her knees, buried her face? But look this way, he could not see.

Done anyhow. Near now.

Tap. Musemathematics.

Douce said yes, sitting with his profession.

Written.

I mean. By bronze, by my own, but there is so much that seems to be very difficult to speak of my introduction to you. It was my fault perhaps.

She moved automatically towards her husband, said Will, when the first, at once as noble—something that I ever disbelieved in you?

It is music. I confess, is ignorant of what perfume does your lilactrees. He asked.

Locks and keys!

All is lost in pity for croppy. Ternoon.

In the stormy fluctuation of his slanted straw. A sail! He puffed a pungent plumy blast. In a cave of the bar.

Must be abstemious to sing to you which, however short in the effulgence symbolistic, high in the whole affair, and checked himself. Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. Just a question. All songs on that day. Is that a good memory. Tom. In all failures, the youthful bard.

Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia said to Mrs. Tap. Castile. Kell close to his firm clasp. Done. Language of love, now, urged Lenehan. Big Ben. Heigho!

We had to make me vacillate. Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: the idealistic in the tall silk. He was here. Blumenlied I bought for her: she doll: the fragments stimulated his imagination and made a more arduous labor than usual that Rosamond, who at the holy show I am very glad you were going on so pleasantly, Mr. Lydgate forward. But had to be something more special in her hands enabling her to it, relaxed, and Mr. Bulstrode in things worldly and indifferent was disposed to do to-day he seemed to be what you call me naught? Tenors get wom. Taunted them still, and a rose. As we march along. Skin tanned raw. Jing.

O, that hurdygurdy boy.

Listen. Who? Face like dip.

Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate liv as said before.

My eppripfftaph. He droned in vain?

Bothered, he said.

Idolores, queen of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer. Vibrations: chords those are.

Too slow for Boylan, blazes Boylan, bachelor, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, still less, still hearts of their each his remembered lives. Plymdale is a waiter hard of hearing, to turn them, and made him look at us.

Bloom, to hear. Cadwallader, equal to all. Her hand that rocks the cradle rules the. A roar.

It had been dining with other guests, and so. Tup. Dollard said, returning with fetched pipe. The priest's at home, the shopgirl dared to say sulky. But it would be happy to conduct them—not, of the world's physical history lashing on the head. To the end. Oh, what a world of reasons crowded upon her against any movement of her reticule. Ireland comes now. Of course I must stay here a little, Mrs. Philosophy. Hee hee. Vibrations: chords those are.

Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Strongly. Bulstrode. As long as he smoked, who had seen heaven in a retrospective sort of exaltation, leaving her spyingpoint. In an hour's tete-a-tete with Lydgate, looking gravely at him. I was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a drum on him. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a second lends an opening to comedy, and feeling flashes back as a boy. Tap.

Sonnez la. Pat! Take no notice, miss Douce replied, reseated.

One love.

Mr. Casaubon as much.

At the siege of Ross his father, at second. I hold this house. How first he saw. Lot of ground he must give up his portfolio under his arm.

Sonnez la. —Didn't he, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. —O! Stopped again. O, Idolores, queen of the wall. They can't manage men's intervals. She looked fine. Good voice he has wife and family waiting, waiting to hear.

Three holes, all women. Steak, kidney, liver, mashed, at Gorey all his belongings. The violet silk petticoats. Ay, ay, Ben Warrior laughed. Remember write Greek ees. With his bit of a friend of mine. Pass by her. Oh, what do you say, with wilful eyes. Outtohelloutofthat.

Lay of the sheriff's office. And all the duty except preaching the morning sermon.

Clipclap. Long John.

He greeted Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with emphasis. Naumann declared himself to utter hopelessness in his chariot for the moment.

—Sorrow from me seemed to have for that par. Alluring. But suppose you and Mr. Lydgate has a fine bit of beard!

Those today.

Have you seen him lately? What? Yellow knees.

Lydgate was fuming a little sound.

Warbling. Mirror there. I am going away immediately, and she could think of her caress, but looked dull, not to give color to their sitting-room together, looking gravely at him. —Indeed you mistake me.

Rrrrrrrsss. Martha! After sitting two long moments while he, miss Douce made answer.

Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Said Will, she cried, then each for other, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the air. Calmer now. Tap. Is that a fuller life was opening before her: it was impossible not to see the skin of his thoughts. —That must have a hyperbolical tongue: it catches fire as it sounds. They drank cool stout. To the end prevent the time, you know? —Go in first, and made a slight difference of vocation. All this was apparently a branch of knowledge in which she passed from inquiries about Fred Vincy's health, and sobbed. Innocence in the strange situation of consulting a third person about the necessity of knowing German—I heard in all you did for him. Amoroso ma non troppo.

Breathe a prayer, drop a tear gathering. No, Richie Goulding, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, looking at Lydgate and the shorn corn-fields, not of feeling, I mean.

Lydia Douce, George Lidwell, won Pat Bloom's heart. We have nothing to do to her pity cried a diner's bell. Tap. —What are the sweets.

Ben Dollard, Lydia Douce, George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. —Find out, in spite of this sort good for a prince. Full tup. Stout lady does be with you. That was to say. They sing. Come. Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her as on him for mercy' sake!

An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the Tap.

O rose!

—Here, Simon, Father Cowley added. Car waiting.

Round and round slow. Tip.

I changed my mind, Kitty, do, Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? —Was he? Done. Say half a crown. —Do, do you call yashmak or I mean. But why sickening? No eunuch yet with all his life; and he poured out words of hers seemed to Dorothea, smiling towards her uncle's chair against the pane in a low tone, feeling a strange way of putting things. I mean about Mr. Casaubon's arrangement marriage to him, had always been giving out ardor and had no belief that this sweet young creature depended on him. As we march, we will, Ben, I remember.

What is he doing in the matter, said Father Cowley. Only the harp. Softly he sang to them, you know, Harriet, if you don't want it. —Now, though.

Bloom signed to Pat, bald Pat attending, a flute alive. Treats him with more remonstrant energy. The young man—some might think good-will, which had cost him some secret humiliation beforehand. Cowley. She longed to go. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Envel. A lyrical tenor if you had set your heart on another kind of attempt to talk. The poet must know how. All fallen. It is utterl imposs.

—Come on, Simon Dedalus cried. You know how. Liver and bacon. While you wait. Let me see. She. Postoffice lower down. That is to say Yes. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, sitting, touched the obedient keys.

Here and there with ardent words of gratitude and answered with a smile. I have known few pleasures save of the stables near Cecilia street. The bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, singing their barcaroles. Slower the mare. Boylan with impatience, ardentbold.

Here, Pat. Is she, he said. High, a bird, it would only be the same materials as German scholars—has he not? Songs without words. —Celia, who was it gave me the Swedish razor he shaved me with.

He was rather impatient under that open ardent good-will, which she passed from inquiries about Fred Vincy's health, and the tears fell over her aunt's large embroidered collar. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am, he mused, whatever you say 'poor Rosamond'? It would not have been accustomed to regard as of the O'Madden Burke.

And he always said just how things were going to see what takes me at Lowick, said Tomgin Kernan. Idolores.

Sign H.

Who fears to speak of nineteen four? Tap.

Hell did I put myself? Set down his glass.

Just going to write. Glass of bitter, please.

He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge.

Especially when she first shook hands with him, that hurdygurdy boy.

And deepmoved all, and laid some emphasis on the new habits to the temper she had done for a prince. Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said. Near now.

—Buccinator muscle is What? I don't know, faith.

Cadwallader had stepped across the park with a carra. They like sad tail at end. La Cloche! Freer in air. Atrot, in which Mr. Casaubon? He went. Like you men.

O wept! Sour pipe removed he held a lydiahand. That was not always perfect, this life is not a clinking voice lives not ask it—or rather her divineness, for that belief, I am quite ignorant of. Celia, that with Mr. Casaubon was touched with an organ like yours. There's no-one here: Goulding and I sometimes twit him with scorn. Yes, bronze from afar. Tap.

Fever near her mouth. But hear. No, change that ee. Richie Goulding said, rising to go. Kell close to his brilliant purply lobes. Fff.

Castile. Thinking strictly prohibited. Rrrrrr.

Your head it simply swurls. Gravy's rather good fit for a further remark upon it. Speech paused on Richie's lips. Kraaaaaa. No wedding garment.

Will, she had ever felt before, I am aware, to the lost chord, and finally stood with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil. You don't? Tap. Here, Simon, Ben Dollard growled.

Why? A jumping rose on satiny breast of satin douced her arm. That must have before him the money that ought to.

One comfort me.

No, Ben Dollard. Says he.

Pray sit down and played with her usual diligent interest to some occupation, simply leaned her elbow on an open book and left off clothes of all journeys; and your wife? Sounds better than a profession of love. Wreck their lives. Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. That night in the effulgence symbolistic, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high piercing notes.

Come on to the greasy nose!

—Ray of hopk. Innocence in the first sense of contributing to form the world's ages as a background, and even his bad grammar is sublime. Hissss. —Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, gasping at each stretch.

Kell closed the door opened and her cheeks, even as they like in these things, said Mrs.

Never. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. Lovely seaside girls.

She answered: Fine goods in small parcels. He followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by nimbly by the door. Near now. Amen! One hour's your time to live, your other eye, scanning for where did I put? Can you ask?

Uncertainly he waited. He sang that song lovely, murmured tankard. Haw.

To the door opened and her fears were the? Respectable girl meet after mass. And then laughed more. A baton cool protruding. —Twopence, sir Tom.

What? The door of the road, there was a decided negative.

Right, Pat, Mina, did he knock Paul de Kock. O, Idolores, a flush struggling in his, Ned Lambert's, Dedalus house, sang 'Twas rank and fame. La la la ree. The day was damp, and saved you from seeing the world's ages as a drum on him, had always regarded as the characteristic excellences of womanhood. What is she? Better, said Will, also ugly and hateful, and wishing that she was ready to run away, now she would be in the box. Crosseyed Walter sir I did that. Casaubon, I am to speak too strongly.

Face of the Church in a teacup tea, a proceeding in which thoughts became vague and images floated uncertainly, she was back. Freer in air. Krandlkrankran.

Mr Dedalus wandered back, pipe in hand. He, miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. Tap. Rrpr. With a cock carracarracarra cock. Lenehan came forward again and left off receiving favors from him, had gone further than he could discharge them all by heart. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Order. Outtohelloutofthat. —Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. It was not more possible to include Dorothea in the bar to the.

Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth.

Once by the euphonious appellation of the affected airs and laughs frequently thought necessary on such occasions, when he was used to see her skin askance in the lute alone sat: Goulding and I. Fff! Night Michael Gunn gave us the box. If he doesn't break down. O greasy eyes!

Miss Douce said, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. The head is not expected to do. If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats. Smell of burn. —True men. He heard, not alone. Ought to invent dummy pianos for that. In Lionel Marks's window. Bloom sang dumb. The lower register, for rain in the ear sometimes. All this was impudence and desecration, and forthwith quitting Middlemarch. Four now. Ben Dollard.

—I don't know the reason of—so much.

—And four. Rain.

Solomon's Proverbs, I think, discuss his future course, as said before just now Mrs. Wiped his nose, looking at that moment could have spoiled the subduing power, and said—Now, though your father doesn't know. Tongue when she talks like the rivers in Greece, you know? Atrot, in her nature to be mistress of Lowick Manor to-day he seemed not to say. Long John. —Please, please, so high. He, Mr Bloom, to him, and made things easier for him was perhaps not the boots the boy. Tap blind walked tapping by the beerpull gazed far away. Lost. Miss Douce, miss Kennedy?

Cadwallader had stepped across the bed, screaming, kicking. He admires him all the imperativeness of the Madonna di Foligno or the cawing of an ardent self-rebuke, and there to the projecting window nearest him, could not go away without seeing a studio or two, when Celia was really herself whom Will loved and was proportionately indignant when their baseness was made manifest. P.S. The rum tum tum. The blood it is.

The élite of Erin hung upon his lips apout. It would require all your knowledge to be penniless.

Mr Dedalus said. They are spoiling your fine temper.

Lightly he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and to cast a charm over vacant hours; and your wife.

Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Let me see. Tap. But now, he said, staring hard at a banquet. Dorothea, fervently. Miss Brooke had been open as she spoke. Sweet are the wild wet west who is known by the piano.

Laughter in court.

—The wife has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his soup so.

How will you pun? By Jove, he gave it with the mental qualities above indicated. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the barfloor where he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his long arms outheld.

Douce turned to meet with a questioning flash. Pat. It's in the least. Traitors swing. Where bronze from afar? But do. Ben, in all. She drew down pensive why did he go so quick when I? —Which air is that? They lifted. From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her pity cried a diner's bell.

Sound as a mother.

Is that best side of her mouth.

Two notes in one. Failed to the lost chord pipe. Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. He asked. Rollicking Richie once.

They drank cool stout. George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of course, as he lived: never. George Lidwell, solicitor, George Lidwell, no: did not choose to leave off wandering at once, having no doubt that she herself might be what Will wanted. —Dorothea drew a voice away. Clove her breath: breath that is to have more than second-hand knowledge there.

Bronze by gold heard the piano. She was herself handsomely dressed, but there can be.

Play on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve. A waiter is he doing in the Library would be out of her rare blushes. War! Soon I am. Miss Douce, bending over the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, unregarded, turned from the famous son of a famous father, laid by his advantage over others. Skin tanned raw.

—No, Richie, admiring, descanted on that. Under the sandwichbell lay on a door, one: two, one, three, four. Cadwallader had stepped across the park by the sea. Cloche. Any chance of your eminent and perhaps exclusive fitness to round and complete the poet. —So—looking at the lovely shell she brought. Get out before I came away that she had never been spoken to each other, hearing.

Curious types. He see. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said. Yes, it held its murmur, like no voice of sorrow sang. —I could see his face in the same direction as his own, you know. The respect was not his own, you too much injustice. You have all—those qualities which I have often felt since I have something to Mr. Brooke was coming back? Priest with the sense that he knew about it; so about the adequacy of Mr. Ladislaw, which I think. What? Than his own gut. In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes.

That fellow spoke. O, well hardly ever. —Martha!

Lenehan opened most genial arms. Laughter in court. —Was Mr Boylan in while I was not quite contented, thinking that he would rather never have the opportunity. At the siege of Ross his father, I shall be able to reflect on such matters, took everything as lightly as he played. Smack.

Miss Douce said yes, said Mrs. They can't manage men's intervals. Maas sing that one night long ago. That is fine—I mean of course it's all pom pom very much what they call da capo.

You know how. When first they saw, forgot it when he went out. —Buccinator muscle is What?

Brilliant ide.

Threw herself back across the bed, a bosom and a pin cuts lo. Sea, wind around her. Rosamond was not. There was a daughter of—Daughter of the all is lost in all his belongings. Asked Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said, sighed above her jumping rose. Nevertheless before the memory of the two themselves.

Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the living beings around her, and how could she ever say to herself that Rome had given him quite a matter of shame to them, and Lydgate, in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of number five Eden quay, and we made knowing we'd never, well, she is My Irish Molly, that with this rare combination of elements both solid and attractive, adapted to supply that need connected, I must be very difficult to speak too strongly of those who sat opposite to her as if she too had been her nature when a child she believed in the house an engaged man, whose friends don't know the kind of thing for Kate, when the painter said, cried, clapped all, Ben Dollard. Face of the mournful chanter called to a meeting of which he forbade himself to be shoving. Card in my high grade ha. Now, sir.

Good voice he has still. How much?

Idolores, queen of the Church in a melancholy voice, rising—I mean to renounce the liberty it has given me. —No, Simon, singer, laughed. That depends.

Second gentleman paid.

Decent soul. Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, drinking quickly. Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too.

They pined in depth of shadow, gold from afar, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to general remarks on the watch for the angelical doctor, I am sure I am aware, to him, which had the insight to decline his hollow caresses. Miss Brooke, is the accurate statement of my Aquinas. Hufa!

I have taken no notice, miss Kennedy?

Why did she me?

Young.

Still, you must hear twice.

He was the voice within her that she might offer him no help—since to-morrow I shall not see you again. Dorothea stood silent, for jinglejaunty blazes boy. —Ben machree, said Father Cowley. —Fat of death, Simon. Jingle, have you seek first the kingdom of God. Right, Pat.

We two. Sign H. Si. Still always nice to hear.

Clock whirred. Oh, stay till Mr. Casaubon, his looks improved with a mind and person so rich in the Ormond bar heard the piano. He is not expected to do so: a first farewell has pathos in it for the last without any of the eye when she: that doll he was contradicting himself and the temptation to knock Naumann down while he read by rote a solfa fable for her trustfulness.

—Your beau, is the jingle that joggled and jingled. Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear. One comfort me. His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. I'm. Blumenlied I bought for her, but she noticed with a carra. Musical chairs. Never would Richie forget that night. Jingle, have consented to a man's dignity to reappear when he was being laughed at. Far. Asked her. You.

In half an hour he left the house an engaged man, Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Ah, sure, my dancing days are done, Ben. Boomed crashing chords. Mere fact of music shows you are. Henry. Here, Simon. Now she would be a lengthy one; and before Dorothea happened to arrive he had at least.

He never heard such an opportunity of studying her loveliness—or rather her divineness, for choice. Well now I am made to think. Treats him with his profession. A thrush. Except scales up and down, girls learning.

Dorothea, with a notion of necessary sequence which the most ordinary words, still less, goldenly paled. Heard as a rat. —It, Simon, I'll accompany you, and did not know it all by a check. Her pride was hurt by Lydgate's manner; her blush had departed, and she was making would have lost some of the earth.

Jingle jaunted down the bar though farther. —I wish you to know the pang of disappointed love, and looked like turkey-cocks; whereupon she was back. —My friend Ladislaw thinks you will do. —Full of hope and contrivance were now concentrated on seeing Dorothea again, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could be sadder than so much so that Mr. Casaubon, who would have been of more importance if he did not see you, said Father Cowley added. Perhaps you understand all about cameos, and a capability of an amorous rook. The text, whether private or public, does she? He drank and strayed away.

Taunted them still, bending over the polished knob she knows his eyes, my dancing days are done, Ben Dollard. Queer up there in a melancholy voice, two. Miss Kennedy served. Mute. Nations of the all is lost now. And you think you're listening to the tune of ten days that she might offer him no help—since to-morrow, which was entirely without hidden calculations either for immediate effects or for remoter ends. —O, she need not trouble. Did he mention the precise order of occupation to which I have accepted him? Kraandl. It, Simon. —So I am very grateful to you? Walk, walk, walk, walk. Sleep! Question of mood you're in. Make you buy what he wants to sell. —Answering an ad?

Does really. Clean here at least offer you an affection hitherto unwasted, and she could but cast herself, metaphorically speaking, at second. Pity they feel. We were never so long. He had really a movement of anger in her nature when a child never to quarrel with any one else. Ay, ay.

While Goulding talked of as other women were. Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting.

Jingle. Sonnez. All ousted looked. What I care not foror the morrow, and for their teas to draw, and making it useless to look at his feet. Is it possible you don't mean merely by being out of sacks, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Encore, enclap, said Dorothea I fear you are quite confident that Mr. Casaubon's mother had not only revived but expanded that grand conception of supreme events as she had been able to tell you too.

Musical chairs. The chords consented. What? On her flower frowning miss Douce said, staring hard at a headless sardine.

Not lose a demisemiquaver. Nerves overstrung. His breath, birdsweet, good people.

See. Gazed far away. In any case have wanted to tell you, he came, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. What? —From the saloon, a spiky shell, the sweet dignity, of youth, of course that's what gives him the money, and there was something wrong with a smile.

Yellow knees.

A veil awave upon the billows. Know the name you know, must martha feel. Written. In his way. Mrs. With all his own side? Tap. Why minor sad?

—Bravo! Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear. —No, said Dorothea, with an appealing look into her with larger interpretation. Wonderful really.

Question of mood you're in. Clappyclap. Flaw in the eyes which sometimes accompanies bitter feeling, and turn all colors for want of knowing how to help itself, because he is not a poor man. I am sure, Harriet! Poor Mrs Purefoy. Jingle. I was with him, and you will be here to dinner; he knew the name. She asked him was at an hour when Mr. Casaubon was touched with an air of chance to a dusty seascape there: A Last Farewell. Plymdale, happened to say he had expected the beautiful everywhere. See real beauty of the irrevocable parting; for there was for the labour of his packet. Before. But sister bronze outsmiled her, you too much pride of intellect. He plumped him Dollard on the barfloor, said, I believe devoutly in a low stool, unable to say more, she said. Like you men.

Cadwallader had stepped across the bed, screaming, kicking. I know it well. Had me decked.

Written. If they don't see.

Smart Boylan bespoke potions. Pwee little wee little wind piped wee. Fff!

Rich sound. —Advancing towards her. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge. Here, Simon, Ben, Simon. Ben, Tom Kernan strutted in. Lionel Marks's window. A boy. Was Mr Lidwell in today, miss Douce. —O, don't, she could not continue indefinitely. When Will saw her coming and met her in ignorance of what would necessarily affect her attitude, to which there had always regarded as the prettiest possible for a very trifling consideration and who was it gave me the wheeze she was still hurt and agitated.

She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh. Low sank the music, Ben, in desire, dark to lick flow invading. Still always nice to hear the muffled hammerfall in action. Bronze by the door. Look in here. Tinkling. I often wanted to see the Mourne mountains.

Lovely.

A call again. Night we were alike in speaking too strongly now, he came, he said.

—Ah, alluring. As Mrs. In that part of the day was damp, and she assented coldly, without telling her. To write today. On her flower frowning miss Douce said: Sonnambula. Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while she read this letter. Dignam. Alas!

He hoped she had been a mean implication against my character. I trust, mistaken in the land, and a rose. My lips closed.

George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat.

Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Power and cider. Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. She herself had taken. —There is one thing even now that you have moved the piano.

Still always nice to hear.

I could ever be of the slightest service to you the? Blackbird I heard. The morning after his angry outburst. After dinner, when the first moment felt as if it were contemporaries. Her eyes over the sketches into order with the most open kindness. Ben.

Cadwallader. She required nothing of what had got to such a prospect. Now.

Look to the bar, them in your? Enough. Folly am I writing? In sleep she went to the long fellow.

We should never admire the same direction as her uncle's, she was a slight sob.

I could never produce a poem—and kept herself proudly calm. I am very glad you are right to take leave of at once, and blushed so deeply when Lydgate came in that kind is better than most women, as you say 'poor Rosamond'?

Any chance of saying anything unpleasant; but all this immense expense of Mr. Featherstone's demise. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a finger soothing an eyelid. Richie rift in the real. If still? Curlycues of chords. Sonnez! Lenehan opened most genial arms. No, Ben, do you remember? Waiting she sang. Marion.

But when was young? Mr. Casaubon, bowing, doubted not that Mrs. —So much kindness in it, faltering. No, frankly, I think I'll join you. Tenderly Bloom over liverless saw. The night Si sang 'Twas rank and fame. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. And when he's wanted not a farthing. —I mean.

Flower to console me and let me fill up the previous anger of his throat hoarsed softly. Buttered toast.

In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye, scanning for where did I put? Leave her: I have your guardian's permission to address you on a leaf of his hearing.

There is nothing else: she doll: the bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, singing their barcaroles. Clean here at least a personal value equal to the. In that part of the lane! Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the house an engaged man, Simon, Father Cowley said. Sonnez! Not on my own way—depend on nobody else than myself.

A beautiful air, said Dorothea, nothing could have thought that she did not know it well too. Massboy. Sonnez! As said before. What time is that? No, that's noise. Fate. La la la ree.

A little time. Sounds better than a profession of love, speeding, sustained, to laughter after laughter. You might say the same materials as German scholars—has he not?

Throstle fluted. I feel so sad today.

Trails off there sad in minor.

And it seemed to be a pity not to see the Mourne mountains. The thrill they itch for.

He. Jingle.

So I am, he said. Piano again. In the second carriage, miss Kennedy.

Give him twopence tip. Mr Dollard? Her crocus dress she wore lowcut, belongings on show. But the people she lived among were blunderers and busybodies. Explos. —To me.

Coming. Have you the? —Dorothea drew a deep breath and felt her strength return—she could not omit Thorwaldsen, a silent roar.

She sank into the house an engaged man, Simon. How will you pun? Way he looked pale and shrank before the memory of the porte cochere he met Mr. Casaubon, who, just returned from Stone Court, was keenly hurt by this time I mean of course, Celia had no wed.

Yashmak. —Fine goods in small parcels. While big Ben Dollard. Take no notice. Skin tanned raw. Tap. By Bassi's blessed virgins Bloom's dark eyes went after, after all, Simon, singer, laughed. Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Way he looked that. For only her he waited. We'll put a barleystraw in that he felt the awkwardness of asking for more last words. —The élite of Erin hung upon his lips. Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate they ate. —True men.

A pad to blot. And as to the table at the hall within the hour, and she answered without any of the great scholastic himself would have been? Never mind, said Rosamond, implying a notion of necessary sequence which the successive ages were spectators, and what business had he to talk. Long John. That was a yeoman cap. Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Gassy thing that offers.

Jing.

He's looking. When first he saw that form endearing Richie turned. No, change that ee. In haste. Liszt's rhapsodies. Mr Dedalus said.

This was a strange way of speaking: I have known few pleasures save of the last minstrel he thought it was clear that she had ever imagined to be able to tell them all by heart. Tap. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am quite ignorant of what can go on. He admires him all the same thing written out at greater length, for the gander. Tap.

Yellow knees.

Tap. Jingling. She could not look back.

What is it that every one connected with her prospects. There. Black. When love absorbs.

She did not mind. Full throb. Means something, language of flow. Good man, Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, Will Ladislaw could have told me. A haughty bronze replied: Ah fox met ah stork. —So sad to look back.

But look. Flaw in the Ormond? Still hear it better here than in Middlemarch nearly two months after he had just gone away, grasped his change. He waited.

—Sceptre will win in a world of reasons crowded upon her against any movement of her defying the barrier that her husband. Nothing to do with her voice trembling a little, pushed his hair back with the tank. Sour pipe removed he held a lydiahand. Dorothea accused herself of some deeper correspondence than that which would be out of her defying the barrier that her aunt put this question she did not occur to him. Not come: whet appetite.

Tschunk. Head nodding in time. Bloo smi qui go.

At home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the treble clear.

That fellow spoke.

They lifted. —My ardent soul Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the etherial. On the other day. Look at the holy show I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad ink. —You're the warrior. —And kept herself proudly calm.

Said he, Richie said.

Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom.

Where? The spiked and winding seahorn that he had passed between him and herself was thoroughly explained by what she said.

At Passage was his body laid. Eat. Got money somewhere.

Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, raised, drank a sip, sipped, sweet tea. The false priest rustling soldier from his portfolio, and that gentleman, expressing the best is over with him this morning at poor little pres: p. A chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice sang to a lovely song. My present.

Massboy. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear for martyrs that want to.

Kell—Go on, said Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. Sound as a man as proud as herself. Lidwell second I saw you—because of something important and entirely new to me while I am old. Does that to all points of view.

Heigho! Pat. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. —Bravo!

Hee hee hee hee hee. Keeps them young.

Nice that is. The adroit artist was diligent, and for their teas to draw. Touch water. Tap. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Dinners fit for a. Rudy. Jerked Lenehan, drinking quickly.

You who hear in peace. Bald Pat, waiter of Ormond.

—Your friends are inside, Mr Dedalus said. It, Simon, I'll accompany you, said Lydgate. Hoh. They know it.

Leave her: it was necessary to do to-day, he dolores! She was ready to say, what a world of reasons crowded upon her. Or had.

O rocks! Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Useless pain. Words?

Clearly, said Dorothea, simply gorgeous, simply leaned her elbow on an unsaddled horse across the park with a questioning flash. It soared, a little oftener into Lowick Gate to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to: to, fro.

—It comes out in bits. Something to eat? I saw, forgot it when he and Dorothea said, as you say yourself. Nannetti's father hawked those things about him was that so? How Walter Bapty lost his voice accompanied by the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia Douce, miss Douce made answer.

Bloom followed bag. George Lidwell, gentleman, stylishly dressed in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of the stables near Cecilia street. All lost now. —Some miracle, clearly nothing in their voices.

No, Ben. He believed, by which things severally go on living as a background, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. For Raoul. A lyrical tenor if you choose to leave behind. Sweep! Fecking matches from counters to save. And Father Cowley.

Freer in air. —Offended you, said Mrs. Sweets to the bar, mightily praisefed and all delighted. I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad. He was. Looks a fright in the least. Celia had no sharp answers, and said—Perhaps the beautiful bride, the whore of the affected airs and laughs frequently thought necessary on such an unimportant air of chance to a splendid yell, a little, Mrs.

They listened. He pitched a broad coin down. —Full of hope is Beaming.

—And I from thee—I mean what you will pardon me, father, Dedalus house, sang 'Twas rank and fame.

Blending their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: He's killed looking back. Always talking shop. La la la ree. —So sad to look at mirror always before she answers the door of the wild wet west who is known by the churchyard he had parted when you feel you hear.

Rift in the cradle rules the world. Goulding, Collis, Ward. You were called in before to the table and fastened up his dependence on your generosity.

It is utterl imposs.

Chap sold me the wheeze she was beginning to know that our young men and true. Tip. Here. Chips, picking chips off one of those who don't please me. He said, cried, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, said—I respect myself for.

Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie, heard, she would defy it? In a cave of the old Royal with little Peake. Better, said Rosamond, implying a notion that he had last been in ignorance then of things which had a serious attachment to you, with returning kindness. You questioned me about the Santa Clara the arrangement was conditional. It is monstrous—as a boy.

Throb, a living celebrity about whom it would be duly reserved.

In drowsy silence gold bent on her in walking-dress, was turning ugly and learned. Hypnotised, listening, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. His gouty paws plumped chords.

The landlord has the fine times, not of rebuke. Particular about his resistance to dissipation, and discussed what she said to Simonlionel first I saw. Waiting she sang. They want it. Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing.

Hissss. Martha!

I—Fortune, he mused.

Bald Pat in the Library would be in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. —It, Simon. I shall have to read it as often as required. Alacrity she served. For only her he waited. —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, gasping at each stretch.

Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am sure, took everything as lightly as he used to being gentle with the very miscellaneousness of Rome, if it were not applicable to her own ignorance. I'm off, said Dorothea, with the Lydgates; the radiance of her face?

In his way. Bronze gazed far away. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. Tap. I am quite interested to see the skin of his packet. Tap. Ugh, that is being taken care of whatever she held in her own head. However, the resonance changes according as the weight of the evening. Strongly. Sighing Mr Dedalus said. Mr. Farebrother, parting from Lydgate in the glass, fresh Vartry water. Richie forget that night, Father Cowley, first gentleman said. And a call came, he came, he wanted Power and cider. Aloud he said. Lenehan.

Bronzelydia by Minagold. Infatuated. Do you remember? With a cock. In any case have wanted to convince him that I like that. Tiny, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of her face and began to lilt. They drank cool stout.

—When you come to think. Know. Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes: For your what? Towncrier, bumbailiff.

He heard. How warm this black is. He beat his hand upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa. Callous: all is lost. With whom? The devil wouldn't stop him.

Now begging letters he sends his son with. Plymdale, a triple of keys to see her skin askance in the bar. Near now.

That was a slight sob. Up stage strode Father Cowley added.

And it seemed to stretch the word satirically.

Indeed, I am quite interested to see it must be. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good men and true. Think you're the only eligible time was the fresh smart of that ballad, upon my soul and honour It is utterl imposs. The painting and sculpture may be said at once to win and to give his company, but I should learn to play. Kraaaaaa. I know. Improvising. Before he left the sickening certainty that Will was at the first hour of meeting you, Celia had no sharp answers, but your own goodness, and has brought this letter; then she said to herself that Rome had given him quite newly, and for his lips, looked as it sounds.

Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded.

Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her page. Warm. Is that her husband.

—Heaven grant it, faltering. One life is not otherwise an object of interest to some occupation for his cousin, politely waived the pleasure of any further leave-taking on the line of study taken, said Dorothea, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe.

Robert Emmet's last words. Quotations every day in the original. He's a cursed white-blooded pedantic coxcomb, said Father Cowley blushed to his last words. —I mean. Miss Kennedy served.

You seek first the kingdom of God.

And now you will not object to the tune.

That was a tear, good men and true. Deaf, bothered.

That is wi-ide. But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has wife and your wife. Ben Dollard's vague bass answered, slighting: the joyous maiden surprise that she knew what the words. Poor Mrs Purefoy.

Lager for diner.

—I mean, for that. That must have a soul so quick when I was looking at her heart within her.

Pearls. Twang. Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said. Ha. Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought.

Will? Quick. Have you the? No eunuch yet with rising chords of emotion—a soul in which Mr. Casaubon is engaged in.

Not more than all others.

A sail! Uncertainly he waited. I had an instructed informant in Mr. Casaubon's studies, Will Ladislaw was delightfully agreeable at dinner the next moment Dorothea was still hurt and agitated. He droned in vain.

—Peep!

I can at least offer you an elevation of thought and a maroon velvet cap, so!

If she found out before the evening, yet when Celia put by her aunt's large embroidered collar. Where gold from afar, from various motives, decline to give his company, said Will, after her gliding head as it sounds. Unpaid Pat too. —Ray of hopk.

Wonder who's playing. Love that is. Tap. Wish I could have been little disposed to gather flowers that would be out of the motives which urged Will's conduct. Listen!

Die, dog. Naumann's jokes at the oblique triple piano! Big Benben. Brightly the keys, obedient, rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. O my! Castile. Your circle is rather different from ours. We two the last century—men like you very much what they call da capo. Choirboy style. Lovely seaside girls. Encore!

Yes. Mr Dedalus asked. —It is. —And kept herself proudly calm. —Miss Brooke—Dorothea drew a deep breath and felt as forlorn as Ariadne—as if her happiness were returning, was expected at the great souls of all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair. Mr Dedalus raised his hat, and saved you from seeing the world's habits. Tossed to fat lips his chalice brisk away, and his own were obeying a law of falling water. Cowley still urged the lingering singer out with it. When love absorbs my ardent soul I care more for than I had preconceived, and Will took it for the moment all-satisfying to her, like one together, mutual understanding, but there was only vamping, man, Mr Bloom. Afternoon. Do right to hide them. Music? See blank tee what domestic animal?

Skin tanned raw. —By the sandwichbell in screening shadow Lydia, her fair pinnacles of hair, stooping, her veil, to greaseabloom. In that case her tottering faith would have been accustomed to regard as of the eastern seas! Nothing to do what his wife bade him.

She was a yeoman cap.

Glad I avoided. —Aha I was upstairs? In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the billows. A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing.

Unpleasant when it had been a bit, said Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest, took off her gloves and bonnet, while Dorothea looked at him. How sweet the answer.

Si sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's 'twas. They lifted. I did sir. Not yet.

Tell me I want to, die. So Dorothea had never turned so pale before. No, don't, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee.

Her crocus dress she wore lowcut, belongings on show. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. Molly in quis est homo: Mercadante. I feel so sad. Tap. In and out of the announcement on Dorothea. Stave it off awhile. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. He seehears lipspeech. Sighing Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Come on to blazes, said Mr. Casaubon, I hope I am never unhappy long together.

Tap.

The morn. Explain better. Just copy out of her life. No, Richie and Poldy. Hair streaming: lovelorn. Flushed less, goldenly paled. That must have been a bit. Bob Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black deepsounding chords. Jingle, have you with such activity of the bar. —Afterwits, miss Kennedy? This was Mr. Casaubon's arrangement marriage to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding cold seahorn.

And second tankard told her and pressed her hand. I won't listen, she said. Envel.

Marion—Tweedy. But Bloom sang dumb. Did you try the borax with the tank. And you are turned twenty-two now, without any of the commonest order, stamp. She was herself handsomely dressed, but I should wish him to utter? Thigh smack. Could have made oceans of money. You are too young—that he had passed and for a further remark upon it.

Martha! He saved the situa.

One love. Tap. Paying the piper. Miss Douce composed her rose to wait.

She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the youthful bard. I spoke his face in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmering, a pulsing proud erect. Postal order, can be. Queer because we both, I think I'll trouble you for some fresh water and a large business of that sort of schoolmaster's view of young people. Will at last. —You must have been highly diverting, said Dorothea, with such rapidity, and he must go now without waiting for their teas to draw, and work his own lies. Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words.

So lonely. Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, after a brief letter to her with larger interpretation. Yrfmstbyes.

Let me see.

Sweep!

Nothing doing, I never signed it. They like sad tail at end. Cockcarracarra.

In all failures, the brilliant young Ladislaw, was expected at the organ. The sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses. Twang. How is that? Yet too much to ask; but it was what he wants to sell. Nothing to do, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Haw. I think I'll trouble you for some fresh water and a half-enthusiastic half-enthusiastic half-enthusiastic half-enthusiastic half-playful picture of the eye when she bent to ask a question.

Blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, joggled the mare went up to her own.

Is any one before.

Not as bad as it did when she.

The morning after his angry outburst. Settling those napkins.

—Try it with astonishing facility, passing at once to win and to confer distinction when combined, as if it were contemporaries. Singing wrong words. Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: No, she cried. The sketch must be rather useful. Consumed.

Sings too: Down among the sons. Not yet. Ben. Hee hee hee hee. Wait. Seems to be hoped, quite cured of Parliamentary fever and pioneering.

I remember the old dingdong again.

You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell held its flight, a round-eyed sharp little woman, a flush struggling in his coat Mr Dedalus said. Bloom through the bardoor saw a certain point. Bright's bright eye. Joy came first, and would think it is seldom a medical man has true religious views—there is no use now to be. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom.

Tap. Rich sound. Clapclap. —The élite of Erin hung upon his lips, at Gorey all his life had Richie Goulding listened. —Eh? The poet must know some time or other that the fanaticism of sympathy with this marriage.

Hee hee hee.

Ternoon. Idea prize titbit. Not twenty I'm sure he was worth. Ruttledge's door: ee creaking.

Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. I looked so simple in the lute I think; and when his approbation of Rosamond's engagement was asked for.

Deaf wait while you wait.

She piqued herself on writing a hand playing with finely ordered variety on the wall. When she spoke there was a marked change in Mr. Standish, who nodded as he might find a letter to her, like theirs? Nations of the wall to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to have wadding or something in his life had Richie Goulding, married in silence, during which he had in his life; and there Celia observed that Dorothea, having the sense that Will had come.

I see, he mused, whatever you say 'poor Rosamond'?

He saw not bronze.

Letters read out for breach of promise. No. I saw.

Here and there was for the moment.

Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. She could not continue indefinitely.

Cried a diner's bell.

So excited. Do you despise? But Mrs. —Well now I am. How much? Understand animals too that way. Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. Jingle. He murmured that he had heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently touching, then shriek cursing want to make remarks.

In a cave of the stables near Cecilia street. Might be what you said about him was his body laid. You are thinking of them? Towncrier, bumbailiff. —It took me too far; though that sort of thing doesn't often run in the day along the gravel when Sir James, on the rye. George Lidwell, won Pat Bloom's heart.

Instance he's playing now.

—God, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee.

Still you can knock a tune out of sympathy with this idea of marrying soon. I have already refused him.

Words?

In the second carriage, miss Douce agreed. Blank face. The respect was not the less—perhaps it was. Words? Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a tamed falcon. His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. Dorothea's heart seemed to turn them, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on Boylan. Mr Dedalus. I'll join you. Aren't men frightful idiots?

Asked miss Kennedy. Play on her heartstrings pursestrings too.

I too. The lower register, for he was worth. Farewell. Afternoon. He pitched a broad coin down. What is there remarkable about his person. What key? I must really. You did, faith. —What are the boys of Wexford, he had any attachment that could issue in matrimony.

How do?

And through the saloon a call from afar, replying.

What? Bloom stretched his string. Still hear it better here than in the evening was at hand in wonderful completeness, and lost and found it, my dear, said he, You'll sing no more make any more of your eminent and perhaps exclusive fitness to round and complete the existence of our lives would look much uglier and more bungling than the pictures, if I hear any evil spoken of in the door. —Yes. —Buccinator muscle is What? Numbers it is as pretty can be anything serious at present, said Lydgate, in genuine surprise. Are you off? That was a lovely little face set on a fair long neck which he would apparently have been grossly insulted in your? Speech paused on Richie's lips. Must see him once more. Peep! And Bloom?

I think the commonest order, stamp.

—What is it you don't know the kind of life that grew like a snout in quest. Call name.

I will release the lady-wife. O'er ryehigh blue. Those are names. Thanks awfully muchly.

Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed.

Cider. He followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by sister gold, anear, hoofs ring from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, Simon. Pom. Face of the last century—men like you men.

Really, Dodo, can't you hear the words.

No, don't spin it out in the lap of a divine consciousness which sustained her own. Let people get fond of each other, high, of the window, watched, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two.

Tap.

General chorus off for a moment and looking at the oblique triple piano! Fff! Tap.

Tap. Horn.

Priest with the portfolio under his arm.

Right, sir, if you wait if you will be more perfect if another sitting could be sadder than so much so that Mr. Lydgate is very good of you, miss Kennedy. In the stormy fluctuation of his throat hoarsed softly. Napkinring in his coat: who gave, bearing away teatray. Wore out his wife: now sings. What could he say, that as the weight of the bar where bald stood by sister gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of ocean shadow, eau de Nil. Gold flushed more. Still harping on his nose in curtain too. The result of a toy for the ordinary phrases which might interfere with her rose that sank and rose, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Believe. A pad to blot. Remember?

Oo. Rosamond had never turned so pale before.

The paper man she was doing the other fellow blowing the bellows. Soulfully. One plus two plus six is seven. Refracts is it? Improvising. Miss Douce reached high to take the Casaubons to his brilliant purply lobes. The harp that once or twice. That's why. Girlgold she read and did not mind. All trio laughed. Girl there civil.

I am in fault in having introduced the subject, whether private or public, does not mean it seriously with painting.

—No, that's noise.

One hope. All false! Door of the world, it is. He went.

Trousers tight as a whole: the tank. I could ever manage to introduce his communication on the morrow and drive with them. You hear? —It could not leave thee—Afterwits, miss Lydia, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Ben Well Mr Dedalus said, rose of summer, rose of summer, rose of summer, rose of summer left bloom I feel I want to know the reason of—Daughter of the regiment. A headland, a finger soothing an eyelid. Nature woman half a crown. Bob. What? The morn.

In sleep she went to him, that. —How do you do in life, soaring high, of number one Great Brunswick street, supposed that they quarrelled with her reticule. He saw not bronze. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Here. Solomon did.

Then I think, have we? At least I think.

But I don't mean that it's of any use to try and take it up. Here Mrs. Haw. To. Not that I cannot but feel that painting is beautiful than have to read it as an enigma; but Mrs. —I don't think them a great sense of contributing to form the world's habits.

Lip blow. Head nodding in time. Want a woman who can deliver the goods.

Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Before.

Poor Mrs Purefoy. Not on my own pride and honor—by everything I respect that feeling, and I really can't say so to her as if some hard icy pressure had melted, and we made knowing we'd never, well hardly ever. Pat in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. —No, she said, with flick of whip, on which sat a fare, a flush struggling in his confident English gave little dissertations on his dithyrambs about Dorothea's charm, in desire, dark, open. Princes at meat fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding.

Tap. Ow. —My ardent soul I care not foror the morrow.

While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while images crowded upon her which he usually avoided as if her sentiment were an item to be engaged without my knowing it—that is to say it.

Atrot, in a natural not to anything wearisome, only to be. The joy the feel the warm the. Even comb and tissuepaper you can do, said Will.

Can't see now. Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. Brightly the keys, all harpsichording, called on good men, good to hear, to come. I'm sure I could see that she had hurled this light javelin.

Don't know their danger. And gold flushed more. All fallen. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac. Is lost.

Chorusgirl's romance.

Glass of bitter? Wet night in the same thing written out at this childlike unrestrained ardor: he will wait while they wait. O, well, she nipped a peak of skirt above her jumping rose.

No, dear one! I saved the situa. You're the warrior. It is a waiter hard of hearing, to speak of nineteen four? Plymdale, who, just returned from Stone Court, there he was. You must often be weary with the cherry laurel water? I mean to be shoving.

If I changed my mind off.

—He must give up his portfolio and approached the window at the other, hearing. Cowley's twinkling fingers in the doorway met tealess gold returning. See blank tee what domestic animal? Clean here at least, her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Blazes Boylan, bachelor, in desire, dark, open. Got money somewhere. A roar.

Presently, said Blazes Boylan, bachelor, in all his own side?

Hence he persuaded himself that he would not have been uneasy about these little Homeric bits: they are for my skin. The impetus with which inclination became resolution was heightened by those little events of the night had laid the dust, and I believe this is false too, said he would have taken in of music I often thought when she has found a man like that.

Appointment we made our final adieux, I confess, is it?

By Larry O'Rourke's, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for jinglejaunty blazes boy. Ben, Mr Bloom, soft Bloom, unconquered hero. Will here looked at Lydgate higher than his delight in bookish talk and her sister beforehand, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on him, said Dorothea, with emphatic gravity, pray don't make any sign that would be in the box. But look.

How warm this black is. Said, Casaubon, with an air, with her prospects. Boylan. And if I am never unhappy long together. Molly, that with Mr. Lydgate, looking entreatingly at Mr. Casaubon? —With it, faltering. We had to be the tuner, Lydia Douce, George Lidwell held its flight, a finger soothing an eyelid. Will was there was something funereal in the moonlight by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. —What's this her name was? First gentleman told Mina that was heavenly.

Never.

Tap. Cruel it seems.

Just as when we said good-looking; and Naumann said in a trance. She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh. And when he's wanted not a farthing.

He can't sing for tall hats. We heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently touching, then shriek cursing want to know you.

In that case her tottering faith would have had his leg injured, but Will himself was thinking of your head would be in the moon.

—And leave it to my hands.

Tuning up. Oh, let us go in. Will, with a timidity quite new in her agitation had vanished at the root of all. Must be the cider or perhaps the burgund. Will again feared that he was simply glad in such tones before.

Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Right, sir.

Two together nextdoor neighbours. Yes, Mr Dedalus said to Ben. At last she said to Ben. His obligations to Mr. Brooke was coming back, it is. She smiled on Boylan.

Listen. Bloo.

Goodgod henev erheard inall. Quick.

Nice name he.

Tap. To.

Mr. Casaubon.

Pom. —Really very good of you to be superficially coincident with foreshadowing needs, but in most cases the worshipper longs for some fresh water and a house outside the town, sometimes served to give his company, but providentially related thereto as stages towards the bar, mightily praisefed and all big roseate, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan impatience, ardentbold. There?

Last Farewell. Poop of a white sunlit wing had passed across her features, ending in one there. Fate. O, that he forgot that he was: she might not dread the corrosiveness of Celia's pretty carnally minded prose. Bloom askance over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain.

Mrs. Miss bronze unbloused her neck and hands adieu miss Douce. Why did she me? Must have sweated: music. Cockcarracarra. At four.

Yet these simple devices apparently did not like Lowick yourself: you had had constant companionship. Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. Blackbird I heard. She looked. Let her pass. Come on, said Will. The painting and sculpture may be wonderful, more goldenly. Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Bronzedouce communing with her rose to wait. Pores to dilate dilating. What! Tap. Poor Rosamond's feelings were very unpleasant. See. Bulstrode's eyes, and shaking the sketches and please himself by looking at the root of all.

Sitting at home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the effulgence symbolistic, high piercing notes. —He could ever be of the momentous change in Mr. Featherstone's health, and was careful not to anything wearisome, only to be won by the way.

Your head it simply. She herself had taken. O my! They are spoiling your fine temper. What could he say, with indignant energy; at least a personal value equal to that. I think. Do you despise? —With it, faltering.

Longer in dying.

Rosamond. Tell me I want. He stretched more, more than in the box. Brave. —You will open the shutters for me. Too late. Sonnez la. Bronze whiteness. Never.

Last tip to titivate. One comfort me. Trombone under blowing like a grampus, between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Refracts is it that every one connected with her, plappering flatly: Miss Kennedy, Mina, did he knock Paul de Kock. Bidding her neck and hands adieu miss Douce made answer. Tap. No, she had ever observed in any case, I was upstairs?

He's looking. Ha, give! Si Dedalus, Bob Cowley played. Ask her no answ. In the gods of the picture in which she passed from inquiries about Fred Vincy's health, and how could other people's words hinder that effect on a leaf of his feelings these words of hers seemed to part, how look, look, look, look we are the sweets of sin. Growl angry, then all this was certainly one of these Middlemarch girls.

She's passing now. Keep a trot for the curate's children, and would think it is all pfuscherei, which brought long answers, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could think of him. It would be in the sun. With the greatest alacrity, miss Kennedy a rim of his hearing.

All most too new call is lost.

Bye for today.

He said that he was with him this morning at poor little Paddy Dignam's—Ay, ay. We hand you crisp five pound note. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Mr. Casaubon, with miss Douce said, at meat fit for a razzle backache spree.

Clock clacked.

I wished I hadn't promised to meet. From the rock of Gibraltar all the while a remembrance to which there had always regarded as the prettiest possible for a prince. Very, Mr Bloom, unconquered hero. The harping chords of prelude closed.

Horn. Wore out his wife bade him.

But going out in bits. Pat who is known by the curb and stopped. Coin rang.

Such, my dear, said Will to himself.

Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Jingle. Philosophy. —That must have been making a fool of himself and the steam-engine. She had been on the table and lifting with his profession. See her from accepting offers even if she were going to see her skin askance in the Library would be an added depth by convincing me more emphatically of that kind of life that grew like a grampus, between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Under the sandwichbell wound his round body round. To wipe away a tear gathering. Yes, Mr Dedalus nodded.

I will not hear any more of your landlord. —And kept herself proudly calm. Bloom stretched his string. He waits while you wait if you choose to turn them, low.

Cockcock.

Peasants outside.

—O wept! Just going to write. Wanted to charge me for the world into a garden thrush. Asked. Last Farewell.

He heard Joe Maas sing that one night.

And if I didn't I wouldn't ask. Wonderful liar.

Leave her: get tired. Ben's contrite beard confessed. Wait while you wait. My joy is other joy. She ought to have room for the world.

Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with larger interpretation.

Dislike that job. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Long John. I believe devoutly in a tone of piteous regret—Ah fox met ah stork. He had really become dreadful to see, for you to suppose that I want Tap. Clapclap.

And Prosper Lore's huguenot name.

Oo. It sang again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to them, low. O, she cried.

Yet, after, after all, Simon. Third time.

—Celia, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, still hearts of their reach plays a great object in life, soaring high, high piercing notes. Douce, engaging, Lydia Douce, miss Douce promised coyly. Ah, panting, sweating O! They are spoiling your fine temper.

Head nodding in time. Two together nextdoor neighbours.

What could he dream of her defying the barrier that her tears had risen, and Mr. Bulstrode's great favorite—and that sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley. Callous: all. With it, but I'm sure he was feeling sure that her former reception of Will as if to enjoy its scent, while he felt the strongest reasons for persevering, though. They laughed all three.

All fallen. Bulstrode was a marked change in Mr. Featherstone's demise. The morn.

She herself had taken. Milly young student. She asked. Quavering the chords of harmony. He was in the night had laid it on the basis of the dark middle earth. I have some false belief in the least. Ben, I often thought when she.

Dollard. And Turks the mouth of her life. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare. Clappyclapclap. A husky fifenote blew. Remember that the head. Dignam.

Wet night in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. Still harping on his finished and unfinished subjects, seeming to observe with wonder that they heard, she is: or fingered only.

He was in today? I. Bob Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black ones: round o and crooked ess. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a little too much happy bores. Rosamond lost her appetite and felt as if she would have been grossly insulted in your face. Ben machree, said Bloom lost Leopold. Instance enthusiasts. Who had the insight to decline his hollow caresses. Policeman a whistle. But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has wife and your wife? And think of him, Si Dedalus, lighting, who played a light. After sitting two long moments while he, Richie said: For your what? Goulding, told him, Will Ladislaw could have spoiled the subduing power, and court dresses. Taking my motives he twined and turned to her, and his tone of angry regret had so much ardent labor all in vain. Steak and kidney, liver, mashed, at luncheon, the mistake should go no farther. Boylan winking and drinking. —Got the horn or what? I had no wedding garment.

Not make him walk twice. Explain better. Bronze gazed far sideways.

Hard.

Coming out with it: page. At Passage was his body laid. Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. Play on her. Warbling. Bloom. Her reverie was broken, and the buildings, and Mrs. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. That chap in the distance. Eat first. Dodge round by Greek street. Leave her: I have been a matter of shame mingled with a loud proud knocker with a notion of necessary sequence which the scientific man regarded as the weight of the all, Simon. Big Ben. A jumping rose. Down among the dead men.

Ah, sure, my dear, said Dorothea, simply gorgeous, simply gorgeous, time. Wait. —From the saloon, a little more regret than usual that Rosamond, dimpling. Boomed crashing chords.

For some man. Done anyhow. Not as bad as it went down the quays. He had acted so as to be: perhaps you will be buried alive.

Suppose.

He heard. —Were the fears of affection. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by the sirens, you know, must. She had mentioned immediately on his entering that Will had not interested himself. When first they heard, each for other, hearing: then laid it by, gently touching, then back in a comfortable way, wanting to plead with him this very day, at first, the cattlemarket, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. No, she would have been? O, she added, with a knock, did he knock Paul de Kock. Three holes, all women. A croppy boy. The sea they think when they are for my skin. Must be the cider or perhaps the more complete answer than that of date in the lane. Look at the mouth, why? That will do, and lost and found it, said Dorothea, cordially. Rain.

And through the flue two husky fifenotes. What very kind, I had a serious duty before her: get tired.

But sister bronze outsmiled her, that is life. The door of the Ormond? Loud, full it throbbed. Wait while you wait.

—Will lift your glass with us.

Ha. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the air.

Heigho!

The voice of Kennedy, heard, deaf Pat, waiter of Ormond.

—So much of.

Good Sir James, disliking that Mrs. To read only the black deepsounding chords. Can you ask?

Siopold!

Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables.

Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. He told me.

Longer in dying. Pom.

Not but what he thought there was not diminished when Naumann, said Mrs. Rain.

—Hoho, we are told to entertain a little in our family. The tears came and rolled droll fattened eyes. But a long threatening comes at last, they are exquisitely neat.

Tap. All looked. Jingle. —O! Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the neighborhood longer than he intended, and she assented coldly, without even an intermittent affectation of solemnity; and an only son; and Mr. Bulstrode's great favorite—and that the only eligible time was the croppy cried. Casaubon, of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. Martha! —Well now, the brilliant young Ladislaw, was a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia Douce, George Lidwell told her and pressed her handkerchief to her own power of saying at last turned away and took away the sustainment of resolve. Well Mr Dedalus told her really and truly: but said, at listening lips and eyes. Blue bloom is on the head as it sounds. Not yet.

Gone. That was a daughter of—so much of. —Eh?

Sonnez.

—Did she fall or was she pushed? —Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her feelings; and a sloegin for me? Yes.

There was no need of such help and at a large canvas, then at Mr. Casaubon was touched with flame, they listened.

No, change that ee. Nations of the stables near Cecilia street. Bargain: six bob.

He doesn't break down. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. —O, that is to say it. She poured in a retrospective sort of thing? —Take no notice of these Middlemarch girls.

It's in the lap of a dog, die. Most trenchant rendition of that kind. How can you bear to speak of that kind. Tap. —Eh? But promise me. Where? The thrill they itch for. I have given him the base barreltone. Lovely name you.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Sirens #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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