Part at Table, Part in Memory

by **Philomena** on March 1st, 2013, 4:35 am

Minnie is... almost... ALMOST... enjoying herself? Almost. Nearly. Some simulacrum of pleasure drifts through her eyes, for a moment. Its more related to denial, but still, it is enough, enough to cloud her mind, so that the Monstress Hurston can slip up on her unawares.

Her words do not make Minnie go cold, not in somewhere that leaves Minnie so visible. No, they make her shrink, to withdraw. She physically goes lower in her chair. What, after all, is the point of snipping back? Oh, she could, sure, perhaps. A poem even flits behind her head, with a lovely little pun on 'stiffs'. But, then, what would happen? A moment of social victory, for nothing. The essence, Minnie had learned, of the social contract at the University was that every individual had a place. A very specific one. The mechanism, at times, had to adjust itself, to ensure its pieces were not drifting up too high. So it was - Minnie was a reformed shipper, a woman who could not dress, and never had a date, who was known to fall into street argot when caught unawares. She had a place. It was important, in a sense, for the Hurstons of the world to reinforce that place at times.

Clearly, the gentleman beside whom Minnie sat disagreed. And then, a curious thing happened, for Minnie had receded so far - and an external observer might notice, the little fingers of Djed were redirected long enough, that Minnie's nagging doubts whispered forward, some straight to her ear. Perhaps it was simpler than magic. Perhaps it was as simple as the fact that the man had, inadvewrtetnly, made himself an enemy, by making her so suddenly visible, temporarily the center of the party's attention. She was, suddenly a battleground.

And this, of course, this sudden clarity, awakens in her mind, the latent eye of the scholar she had forgotten.

//Minnie, you petching idiot. You read about this, before, when you tried to understand how he made The Evalin do the terrible things for him. He's a mesmerist, you don't… he could be doing me! I wouldn't even… know it… No, no, no, no. I need to keep him focused on others, make him feel I'm on his side. HE wants attention, he wants to make a show. HE's arrogant. MAke the show about someone else, and watch him, watch him, to make sure. Oh, Petch, Hurston… I'm sorry about this...//

Minnie shuffled up in her seat a bit, and stared straight at Madame Hurston, with a quiet, smile, and said soft, "What is that the poet says? In Philiacsica:

The lady preeneth over me, though cold my blood may be,
Tis better have a stiff-all-o'er than limp-when-I-need-him-to-be.

You'll understand, Madame Hurston, I'm sure."

There was a certain delicate balance to the parlor-war. One fought with knives, but not with swords, as it were. Minnie had drawn forth the verbal morning-star - the rumors of Professor's ineptitude as a lover had spread through more than one female student of his, and then, there was the fact that the woman was married now for five years and had not been pregnant yet. Minnie's voice was soft, ever so soft, and demure, and those nearby leaned in. This was no playful trading of barbs, now. This was what they would talk about in the wing for months.

by **Ignotus Everto** on March 1st, 2013, 5:17 pm

While Philomena had sought to distract Ignotus from her, and had succeeded to a degree, the results were perhaps not exactly what she wanted. For, unfortunately, Ignotus was a patient man, and while he would certainly take a needle to Mrs. Hurston's massive head, he would not do so immediately. However, the dear Dr. Lefting seemed so ready to defend her own honor when given a little support... Well, Ignotus was more than happy to watch. No matter the result, it would be amusi

Instead of continuing the offensive, the Nuit leaned back into his chair and kindly requested a glass of wine from a passing serving girl. That wasn't to say that he completely faded, of course. A soft chuckle here, a word of encouragement there. He did not know he had been found out- Such a thing had only happened once in the recent past, and the one who had discovered his secret had been a master of the discipline. Surely a literature professor wouldn't notice a thing!- and so he was a bit more reckless than he might otherwise have been.

A faint flush of shame directed at Mrs. Hurston to soften her up, and a true rush of bravado lancing into Minnie herself to galvanize her. Of course, suddenly feeling ready and able to take on the world, while exhilarating and not unpleasant in the slightest, could also be both unexpected and peculiar. But then, what was wrong with loosening up a little at a party?

With luck, Philomena would both let herself get swept up in the emotion, and carry on the fight for Ignotus.

Of course, if Madame Hurston had remained quiet, there would have been no need. Certainly she was tripping up, but she was far from harmless. Ignotus was a difficult one to fence with- Wealthier than many, a hero to some, and more than a little eerie. For some of the more conservative, he was outright terrifying. A nonhuman nobody who suddenly fancied himself a noble. What would happen if his philosophy spread? Anarchy, in their minds.

In reality, his undeath was the only thing that immediately sprang to mind to mock him with. Except perhaps his defense of Professor Lefting. But then, for someone whose reputation was made on aiding the helpless, that was not such a surprising thing. Minnie, on the other hand... That was different. Parrying Philomena's thrust at her husband's inability to was a simple matter. A sneer coupled with a hissed, "I'm surprised you can. Or was that a way to put food on the table?"

by **Philomena** on March 1st, 2013, 7:46 pm

Minnie found herself caught now between three different emotions. The one, the one most persistent likely, but least pressing, was a sheer, inexpressible guilt. Her cold, conscious mind realized this as a logically silly response. Mme Hurston had been saying nasty things about her for years. But, Minnie, having barbed her felt a hollow shame, now, something she could not place or retract.

//Its not her fault she hates me. And its certainly not her fault that she doesn't have children, or that her husband is a petching wank.//

Then, there was this sense of tooth-and-nail. Even as a child, in a place where one had to be at times, Minnie was never a fighter, not like this, not in pitched battle. But even she could sense the rush of barrel, the combination of danger and possibility. And she felt… strange. Brave. daring.

And then underneath this, there was the professor mind, which had gathered up control, and taken the idea of the Murder Man now, and in the reflexive defense of the dissociative, had placed it in a box, where it could be analyzed, considered, but not felt. This part viewed the man's apparent enjoyment of the spectacle with a slight perturbation, that came through as a nervous fear, one that combined and blended quite naturally with the fear of suddenly finding herself in a deadly serious poetry slam.

//He is not joining. He is enjoying the attack, he feels proud, perhaps? He is self centered, remember this, Minnie. You are not a person, you are a tool, a manifestation of him. You are an object to display himself through - right now he is displaying that he has awoken you. Do not focus on him, forget him for now, only focus on Hurston, only that. If you turn the other parts of your mind, you'll slip, you'll be visible to him. And you will lose your excuse for emotion.//

"Well, Mussy Hurston!" she affected a certain comic exaggeration the brogue that retook her when she was nervous, "It were a har' life dun in the gutters, eh? We 'ad to ask pay for what y'were giving away for free as a lass, aye? What a lush life to 'ave such surplus as ter give s'much away s'often!"

Hurston looked at Minnie hard, her lips compressed, her cheeks slightly flushed. The line was being pushed hard now, between rivalry and war, and war… that was more uncomfortable for the audience. One of the men attending, an art professor spoke up now from nearby.

"Come now, Madame Hurston. Be the bigger woman here. Don't let's--"

Madame Hurston did not look at the professor, but raised a finger for silence, still staring hard at Minnie and Iggy. She was enraged, now, and the walls of propriety were not so well guarded as they should have been perhaps, not so much for the insults - had she handled herself better, she realized, Minnie would have simply ended up looking gauche and coarse. It was the impudence of it, and then… the sting of her personal resentment of the old literature professor.

When she spoke again, her voice was hard and piercing and cold, "No, no. You're right. This is a party. What point is there in ruining it over a fish-faced old gutterslut, and a nouveau-riche corpse-snatcher?"

And she turned away as this last word was said.

//Well.// said the professorial voice, //Perhaps we pushed her a bit hard.//

The crowd mixed now. Some of them cringing uncomfortably - this was a fight that neither Minnie nor Hurston could win, now - they had both lowered themselves too far. The other half, though, leaned forward, perhaps, just a tad in their seats. No matter how one rises, how fast or how high, the world retains its sense of schaudenfreude towards you, and Minnie being insulted, that was merely a sideshow. Minnie practically deserved it. Hurston being insulted, that was more interesting - in public anyway. She was insulted behind a hand often enough. But now, this Nuit who had made so much of a name in so short a time! That could make… a show!

by **Ignotus Everto** on March 1st, 2013, 8:50 pm

There was no thrown gauntlet or fiery tirade in response to Mrs. Hurston's slight. Instead, there was a constant, monotone mutter, a sound akin to a kettle's screaming. "You talk, but your mouth is farther in the gutter than Dr. Lefting's, and you are even more insecure than she. Why were you so angry that she was speaking with a Nuit? You have many friends and colleagues of greater humor than I and she."

Ignotus was staring unblinking at the woman, leaned forward like a hunter stalking a deer, elbows on thighs. "No, it wasn't jealousy. You have everything she doesn't. No, it's much more that that. You have no progeny. Your money molders in mildewed vaults, kept to yourself and yourself only. Your so-called friends tolerate you. They do not like you."

Though it was difficult to see from behind, the color was running out of Mrs. Hurston. She was rooted to the ground like a frightened rabbit, pinned by the undead who continied his dispassionate deconstruction. They could not see, but Ignotus was wreaking havoc upon the poor woman's mind. Images flashed unbidden through her head. She was old, spent, and in a moth-eaten four poster bed, with only the rats for company.

"You have no legacy. No children, physical or otherwise. When you die, only the crows will mark your passing. You will be forgotten by most, reviled by others. Your headstone will crumble untouched by flowers or kneeling friends. 'Minnie' though, gives her heart to her students. In each of them she will live on. She will be loved and remembered. And I, I will outlast all. I give half of all I have to those who must struggle for food- any food- because they need it more. But you know this."

Mrs. Hurston's shoulders were starting to shake. It meant little for the wizard.
"You must feel greater than everyone else, because if you aren't the prettiest and the most beloved, what will you be? Nothing. A shame you haven't pulled the wool over anyone's eyes. You are nothing. I may be a corpse, but I live more in one day than you do in your entire vapid life."

The wine arrived, and Ignotus thanked the serving girl before turning back to face the table. "Enjoy your night." He said softly before bringing the glass to his lips. The only sound other than the tinkle of crystal was the shuddering sobs of Mrs. Hurston. It cost Ignotus quite a bit to push her over the edge, especially to overwhelm the misses he was sure he made, but it was more than a little satisfying. Philomena had been right: though it only manifested as a twitch of the corner of his mouth, he was drinking in the woman's tears. "What vintage is this wine?" Ignotus inquired casually, evidently unaware of the crying hostess, "It's absolutely sublime."

A final pulse of Djed, this one enveloping the entire party. A sort of filtered lens. To be precise, a large chunk of the party saw their hostess as worthy of notice as the servants. It wouldn't do to spoil the mood, after all...

by **Philomena** on March 1st, 2013, 9:51 pm

There was no thrown gauntlet or fiery tirade in response to Mrs. Hurston's slight. Instead, there was a constant, monotone mutter, a sound akin to a kettle's screaming. "You talk, but your mouth is farther in the gutter than Dr. Lefting's, and you are even more insecure than she. Why were you so angry that she was speaking with a Nuit? You have many friends and colleagues of greater humor than I and she."

Ignotus was staring unblinking at the woman, leaned forward like a hunter stalking a deer, elbows on thighs. "No, it wasn't jealousy. You have everything she doesn't. No, it's much more that that. You have no progeny. Your money molders in mildewed vaults, kept to yourself and yourself only. Your so-called friends tolerate you. They do not like you."

Though it was difficult to see from behind, the color was running out of Mrs. Hurston. She was rooted to the ground like a frightened rabbit, pinned by the undead who continied his dispassionate deconstruction. They could not see, but Ignotus was wreaking havoc upon the poor woman's mind. Images flashed unbidden through her head. She was old, spent, and in a moth-eaten four poster bed, with only the rats for company.

"You have no legacy. No children, physical or otherwise. When you die, only the crows will mark your passing. You will be forgotten by most, reviled by others. Your headstone will crumble untouched by flowers or kneeling friends. 'Minnie' though, gives her heart to her students. In each of them she will live on. She will be loved and remembered. And I, I will outlast all. I give half of all I have to those who must struggle for food- any food- because they need it more. But you know this."

Mrs. Hurston's shoulders were starting to shake. It meant little for the wizard.
"You must feel greater than everyone else, because if you aren't the prettiest and the most beloved, what will you be? Nothing. A shame you haven't pulled the wool over anyone's eyes. You are nothing. I may be a corpse, but I live more in one day than you do in your entire vapid life."

The wine arrived, and Ignotus thanked the serving girl before turning back to face the table. "Enjoy your night." He said softly before bringing the glass to his lips. The only sound other than the tinkle of crystal was the shuddering sobs of Mrs. Hurston. It cost Ignotus quite a bit to push her over the edge, especially to overwhelm the misses he was sure he made, but it was more than a little satisfying. Philomena had been right: though it only manifested as a twitch of the corner of his mouth, he was drinking in the woman's tears. "What vintage is this wine?" Ignotus inquired casually, evidently unaware of the crying hostess, "It's absolutely sublime."

A final pulse of Djed, this one enveloping the entire party. A sort of filtered lens. To be precise, a large chunk of the party saw their hostess as worthy of notice as the servants. It wouldn't do to spoil the mood, after all…

-----------

The sort of tragic strength of being Philomena Lefting is that whatever someone else may call you, you have called yourself worse. The insult thus leaves her, simply, prepared for a response. Its intensity she can measure, but the depth of it has little meaning. She has, after all, already humiliated herself at this party far more than the insult would humiliate her - that has a pang, but it is suppressed by the exigencies of the moment. Humiliation is frustrating to Minie Lefting. It is also habitual, and not terribly debilitating.

And so, as the Nuit begins his speech, it is the professor voice that lives uppermost, that can listen, dissect, and learn. And then, the bravado drifts off as the Nuit attacks the hostess.

//Farther in the gutter - yes, he is making me a hero in this speech, but it isn't gallantry, its only the appearance of it. He knows better than to give a damn about you, Minnie. Its like his little donations, its like his claptrap about the poor and dispossessed. And then… why doesn't she respond? He isn't even entirely right - about children… is that how they do it though, these mesmerists? They launch arrows until they see one well up blood? Children, physical or otherwise, that line… oh Qalaya… oh Qalaya. She will think he knew. She will think I told him, about her poems, from all those years ago. Sally Hurston… oh I am so sorry… Oh petch… oh petch you, petching Minnie. You nasty, petching...//

Her face drooped, and shimmered for a moment, still, just as the man finished, falling into something like fear and pity.

//No, no, no, not pity… not pity, don't be looking for anything. Do not take, Minnie. Give. Awe. Fear is like awe… He wants awe. You know the truth - that line about how you're some inspiring teacher is poppycock, you're an old bitch, and most of your students hate you. He just wants you to adore him.//

Minnie blushed, and tried to pull the pity down, her face still had the gnomic quality of its discomfort, returning, now, so it was passable if not great at doing so. And then she felt a strange finger of thought.

//Let her go. She's not worth worrying about, now. She's no different from you, just another sniping pretender, trying to be something she isn't. Let her go.//

This pressed the last of the pity into the box, and left her only with a vague nausea. She murmured very softly, "That was… you are a powerful speaker…"

//Awe… awe… awe… come on Minnie… amazed. Worship, you petching gutterslut. Worship.//

by **Ignotus Everto** on March 1st, 2013, 11:52 pm

Ignotus grimaced as a small bit of ichor spilled into the wine and began to mingle with the blood red liquid. The beginning symptoms of overgiving. It would do poorly for him to use any more magic for the rest of the day, unless he wanted to hurt himself. "Luck." he responded brusquely. "Perhaps I overdid it."

The Nuit, now unable to influence minds and events, suddenly felt strangely vulnerable. Without magic, how would he get past the fact that he was undead? Everyone had forgotten about Madame Hurston, apparently... No one would mind overmuch if he slipped out. He could always come up with a convincing excuse. Of greater concern was the look on Philomena's face. He didn't know what it was, but something was just wrong. As if she was hiding something. Which she most certainly was. He needed to know what. That meant asking... Later. Right now, he would get nowhere. When he had regained his strength, then he could approach her. Yes... But not now. Now he had to leave. The wineglass quickly found itself placed on the ground, the cane removed from the undead's lap, its tip hitting the ground with an audible clack.

"I really must be going. Lots of work to do... It really was wonderful speaking to you Dr. Lefting. Perhaps we can meet again another time? I'd simply love to hear some more stories."

A quick smile, and then Ignotus was hurrying out of the house.

by **Philomena** on March 2nd, 2013, 1:22 am

As Iggy speaks, the lady of the house begins drifting silently back toward her seat. The man of the house looks angry, throwing dark eyes at Minnie - in spite of, perhaps, her terror of Ignotus, her horror at the rest of the room falls like a suddenly real pit in her stomach as he stands to leave. Minnie stops, tries to formulate a few words, turns, "Must you, Mr. Ever--"

But the man was gone. The room was empty. Minnie looked around the room, with dismay, looked at the hurt, tear-stained face of her hostess, trying to appear alright at her table, at the angry eyes of her husband. Minnie felt, suddenly, the intense need for a drink, a feeling she almost never had. She reached down, clumsily for the cup her partner had left on the ground, sipped it, coughed. Looked into it, and frowned. The wine tasted... strange, wrong. It hurt her stomach. She put it down, and sat uncomfortably, as the lobster plates entered the room.

That flavor. A smell... from a long, long time ago...

by **Echelon** on April 26th, 2013, 9:00 am

Adventurer's Loot

A Gift
Experience is its own reward.

Minnie's Loot :

Iggy's Loot :

(I never did entirely piece together why this meeting occurred, though it was a very pleasant read so I shall not make a deal or it, nor the issue of the season it took place in. I am sure that both of you paid proper attention to the tragedies of the season in other threads. Thank you for sharing. I could tell that you both enjoyed writing this.) - if you have ANY questions or concerns about this grading, please PM me.

Closed Part at Table, Part in Memory