Solo Like a (Scented) Candle in the Wind

[Amelia]

63rd Winter 515AV

“It’s so good to see the whole gang back together!”

The five other young woman all grinned and agreed with Maria’s statement excitedly. Yes, it was wonderful to see each other again! No, not much had changed from last time, but aren’t you just looking wonderful tonight!

But, as usual when a group of young women got together, there were undertones of bitchiness and rivalry:

Have you heard that Sash and Benjamin have broken up? But she’s still wearing that hideous ring…

Amelia’s looking awfully poor these days. You can even see the stitches in her dress!

Amelia Trisswell did her best to ignore this final comment, overheard from the other side of the large wooden table they all sat at. Instead she forced a smile onto her lips and tried to pull her concentration back to what she had been doing: crushing mint leaves with a pestle and mortar into several drops of an odourless oil. The mint would serve as a fine top note for her candle fragrance. It was fresh, though not particularly long lasting: exactly what she desired.

But whereas perfumery had once been one of her passions, as had meeting up with the girl friends she had had for the best part of her life, she was feeling… incompetent and small in comparison to their wealthy bolshiness. Their families were still whole, their fathers still loyal to their mothers, either happily or otherwise. Not for the first time, the young blonde found herself wishing that her father (and his money) had remained in Lhavit, miserable but nevertheless present.

The single empty chair at the table of gaggling women would have belonged to the unspeakable specimen who had seduced Richard Trisswell -- shamefully one of Amelia’s closest and oldest friends. It had been the ultimate betrayal: not only had her father had an affair, but he had done so with a harlot aged only two seasons older than his own daughter. Disgusting, immoral pig. Dirty, filthy little slut. May they be hunted down by rabid dogs and devoured slowly, painfully.

Amelia smashed the stone pestle against the mint leaf, her groomed brows knotted together in a moment of intense hate and anger.

“Well, then,” coughed Maria once more, the hostess who was keen to get her party started, “as some of us, myself included, are no longer able to drink as heavily as we used to…” The plain-looking brunette giggled and fondly touched her swelling belly. All other women save for Amelia replied with a harmonious and worshipping croon, “I thought tonight we could make candles. It’s just as fun, I swear, and it means we’ll actually remember everything that happened in the morning!” More laughter, more excited little murmurs. Amelia continued to squash the mint, but now the leaves had been successfully crushed to smithereens, so her efforts were wasted. But she needed something to keep herself together. Without wine to keep her self-pity at bay, Amelia was at risk of drowning.

“So, ladies, I will now hand the stage over to Clarissa, who is one of the finest candle-makers in the city,” Maria gestured to an older woman with hair so long that fell past her own buttocks. The aforementioned Clarissa nodded her head in gentle acceptance of the offer and helped the pregnant Maria into her chair.

Amelia glowered silently. Once upon a time, not too long ago, she had hosted parties such as this one. Her father used to pay for it all: the wine tasters, the dress makers, the cosmetologists. She would have a splendid time, surrounded by her adoring friends who marvelled at the money spent on the food and entertainment. It was all a competition, see. Whose parents spent the most? Whose father loved his little girl the best? Amelia usually came out on top, but then her father had fucked her and had left. And now Amelia hosted no parties, embarrassed for the shit-hole apartment she and her mother now lived in. And Joanne Trisswell, heartbroken and ashamed over her husband’s infidelity, was no longer the sharp-tongued artists, but the sad old woman who cried and ate pastry.

[Amelia]

Clarissa, the haggard-looking candle-maker took to the class like a seasoned pro. Though she had perhaps not given a class to such entitled young women before, she was nevertheless well rehearsed. “I understand you’ve been working on the fragrances you’d like to use in your candle, yes?” She started, her grey eyes scanning around the six eager faces. All young woman nodded quietly, Amelia as well. Her mint was now well crushed, and as she listened to Clarissa explain the general candle masking process, Amelia began to sieve the remnants of mint leaf out of the oil.

She poured the mint-infused oil into a small glass beaker, then cleaned out the mortar and began to repeat the crushing process with lavender and oil. She hoped this would complement the mint, adding a floral dimension to the otherwise clean mint odour.

Suddenly remembering that she should have been listening all this time, Amelia dropped back into the lesson just in time to hear Clarissa say: “So today, we’ll be using soya wax, made from pressed soya beans. I have bought the soya oil with me, so we’ll just do the heating and fun parts!” With heaps of enthusiasm that was clearly false, Clarissa hurried the young women towards the fire stove, where six pots were waiting on the hob over the flames. After briefly organising into pairs, Amelia and her friends stood dutifully beside their allocated stove. “In front of you, you’ll see a large pot and a smaller one. The smaller pot will have a piece of nickel inside. This is a crucial component of making soya wax, so please do not remove this.”

Clarissa subsequently made her rounds down the line of women, pouring a large amount of soya oil into each of their pots. Once she had done the same to her own designated pan, Clarissa continued with her lesson: “I want you to take turns stirring this oil until it has reduced and become opaque and white. The one not stirring should continue work on her fragrance to put into the candle.”

Amelia and her companions nodded and began organising who would stir, and who would continue with their perfumes. For Amelia, she would take on the latter whilst her partner, Rachael, would stir. Rachael was one of those awkward individuals who seemed to always be at a loss over what to say when someone she knew was going through a hard time. But her painful silence wasn’t always appreciated, particularly by Amelia who never tired of complaining about her father’s behaviour.

“So…” Rachael began, stirring slowly and watching her feet gawkily, “we haven’t seen you for a while, Amelia.”

“No. It was difficult to see everyone after… after he left.” She replied flatly. Perhaps, in actual fact, Amelia was not quite ready to discuss her father with those who had also known his choice of lover. Immediately after his admission of guilt, Amelia had been convinced that at least some of her friends had known about the affair – after all, none of her gal pals had been good at keeping secrets. It had taken her over a season to speak to anyone of them, despite their promises that they had been as shocked and appalled as she.

She continued to crush lavender, turning the mortar to ensure the dried flowers released its aroma and oils equally throughout the base oil that she had previously added. After ten or so chimes, the lavender oil was added to the mint and the crushed flowers discarded. Amelia thus took over from the stirring and watched with mild interest as the soya oil began to coat the back of her spoon, turning from yellow to white.

[Amelia]

“Well done, ladies! That should be enough.” Clarissa declared after yet more stirring. Amelia was thankful: her wrist had started to ache. “Now we have wax, yet at the moment it smells of nothing, and we have no wick either. In order to incorporate fragrances into the wax, as well as any colour, we need to continue to heat the wax without causing it to reduce any further.

We do this by first removing that piece of nickel – careful, it’s hot! Next, we want to place the pot with the wax in into a larger pot with water. This ensures the wax won’t reach the high temperature needed to turn it from oil to wax.”

It all sounded terribly… dull. Amelia liked candles and perfumery, but this seemed far too scientific and proper for her liking. And why did she have to go without wine just because some of her friends had gone and got knocked up by their moronic husbands?

Nevertheless she did as she was told, and Amelia removed the nickel whilst Rachael filled their second pot with water. Once the first wax-filled pot was placed within the larger, they started to add the fragrance oils that Amelia had earlier been making. Rachael constantly stirred the wax whilst Amelia poured in drops of the oil, first the mint and then the lavender. The fragrance swept up to Amelia’s nose, and she smiled appreciatively; the freshness of the mint and floral odours of the lavender really did complement each other, as she had hoped they would.

The wax maintained its opaque whiteness, though now with the addition of the oil had made it far runnier than before. Had she added too much in?

Clarissa surveyed each pot of wax carefully and either praised the girls’ efforts or suggested a slight alteration. When it came to Amelia and Rachael, the candle maker frowned slightly and said, “Maybe add some more soya oil to thicken up your wax.” Before floating back to the front of the row of women and moving their lesson on.

[Amelia]

“I have bought several glass containers with me for you all to use,” she said in that patient, slow voice, “but first we must ensure that the wick is placed in the center of the jars and safely secured using glue, which you’ll find on the table behind you.”

The gaggle of women all turned in unison and made their way towards the table they had previously been sitting at. Indeed, in the centre of the table there were now six glass jars and many small pots of glue. Amelia noticed that, beside each glass jar, there was also thick strands of thread that were fixed on one end to a small circle of silver metal. The wicks, she realised after investigating this otherwise strange object.

Clarissa ordered the women to prepare their wicks by dipping them bottom-end into the wax mixture: “This will ensure that the thread does not burn too quickly and will therefore make the most of your candle. Careful, the wax will be hot!” With a steady hand, Amelia lowered the metal=plated end of her wick into the still liquid wax. The steam and heat rose up to her hand and made her wince, but thankfully she did not drop the wick.
After allow the wax-encased wick to cool and solidify, Amelia continued to follow Clarissa’s orders and fix the metal-plate onto the bottom of her glass jar with a blob of glue. Once the glue had set and the wick was securely attached, she moved back to the scented wax.

[Amelia]

Now was the final stage of candle making: pouring the wax into the jar. With one hand holding the pot containing the wax, and her other hand holding the wick upright, Amelia filled the jar with the liquid wax. The heat was intense, and the room was suddenly filled with gasps and shrieks as molten wax splashed against hands and faces. Amelia locked her jaw tightly, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Her father’s departure had hardened her into a pessimistic and numb woman.

The glass was filled, the wax steaming the rim of the jar and also scalding Amelia’s hand that still steadied the wick. Five chimes later, and the wax was solid enough for her finally released the thread. With surprise and horror, Amelia saw how her left hand was now red and swollen. Had any of the other girls burnt their hand so badly?

No: they had used hankerchiefs and gloves to protect their delicate skin, but Amelia had had nothing with her save for the clothes on her back. It was yet another stab in the gut that accentuated how little she had compared to her wealthy friends. Now she had burnt skin, the hand of a working woman.

”Thank for this evening, Maria.” She stammered, grabbing her jar with her burnt hand and wincing as the heat from the still warm wax made the entire glass hot to the touch. Her eyes prickled with tears, but not just from physical pain. ”I hope all goes well with your baby.”

After bidding the rest of her friends a rushed goodbye, Amelia hurried out of Maria’s luxurious home. In the coolness outside, she finally allowed herself to exhale, but her breath was wobbly and soon Amelia was sobbing. Never before had she felt so unfortunate, poor and sad.

[Bee]

Don't forget to edit/delete your grade request. If there's anything I may have missed, please PM me and I'll BEE happy to look into it.

 

Ameila

Skills

• +3 Candle making
• +1 Socialization
• +1 Observation

Lores

• Lore: Soya bean wax
• Lore: Mixing oil in a candle
• Lore: Making oil
• Lore: Putting the wick base in place

Miscellaneous

• Awarded 1 mint and lavender scented candle
• The burnt hand will take three days to heal, no scarring.

Comments: Once again, well done! I liked the gossipy vibe of the thread, seems Amelia has some work to do to get back to the top! Enjoy your candle!