Kassandra Rose
Elder Member
Listening to the two brothers bicker between themselves brought a small chuckle between Marcella's lips. The streets were no longer quite as she remembered them. In the rain, the pavement shone like silver. All the lights were misty in the river. Engaged with his vivacious soul, everything was truly alive, especially the trees that shone with starlight and gently swayed from left to right in the Autumn breeze.
Today was another day, another destiny. Her heart felt heavy of the thought of having to leave the two brothers once more, when the drinks were finished and the party was over. It felt as though, here, she had found her identity: Marcel, the young warrior... a revolutionary. She was the definer of her own fate, nobody else.
As they reached the doors of the old tavern, the young lady bolstered them open with considerable force, entering first before beckoning for the gentlemen to follow her. She led them to the back corner, where there was a little breathing space compared to the ocean of the tavern, crawling with a sea of people. "I'll go an' fetch us some brandy wine," she assured them. "Do stay put. One could get awful lost in such a crowd like this".
That being said, she approached the bar slowly, ignoring looks of the men around her, both predatory and discriminatory. Her sharp eyes pierced behind the ale counter, before landing upon the face that she yearned to see.
"Sweet Demelza, 'tis nice to see you are still alive, more importantly still upholding a job somehow," both women chuckled, as Marcel leant her arm upon the counter to lean forth ward. The bar maid wrapped her arms around the small of the girls back, pulling her in to a lengthy squeeze of a hug.
"I think we both know it to be true vice versa. I hears you left the Royale Inn, I did, and I be worrying about your life. Your old mother even, she was tossin' and turnin' all night. In a right mood," she was completely oblivious to the cringe within Marcella's expression at the thought of that wretched place and her awful tormentor. "How be you? You here alone?"
"Aye, no. I'm with them two fancy gentle folk in the corner," they were hardly gentlemen, as much was clear, but they could read and it made them as luxurious as one could get within Versailles village. "We're 'ere for the speeches, well majority of us". She'd turned her body slightly, so that her eyes could view the soft and reassuring faces of her rescuers.
"I'd have me a piece of the one on the right anyway," Demelza giggled, twirling a piece of hair around her index finger. "Or the one on the left, mind you. Say, if they mention a certain urge, you must promise to send them my way. The customers back in Bleak House aren't so much fun these days, same men with the same borin' needs, so selfish too, but that one..." the two girls looked back at the men.
Little Marcella bit gently upon her lower lip. Although she wouldn't admit it, talk of such explicit content so freely, especially about her companions did make her feel a little uneasy.
"Well, I suppose you'll be wantin' a drink, or three, on the house and all," Demelza shook her head, beginning to pour out the three brandy wines. "I tell you girl, you'll be the death of me, or my job a'least. If ol' man Trelawney catches me-"
"He'd be too fine if he could remove his eyes from your bosoms. I think they quite make him blind, to both your actions and imperfections. 'Tis a wonder he ain't asked for your hand yet," Marcella downed the contents of her drinking promptly, before looking pleadingly to her friend for just one more.
The barmaid shook her head in disapproval, but began to pour once more. A soft snort came from her direction. "And ye think I'd accept him?" She put the bottle down and paused, before rolling her eyes. "Aye, I suppose I would. With this little un' on the way, I need every penny of support that I ought to get. And yet I wonder if he'd actually want a woman without virtue".
Virtue. Marcella winced once more. She'd denied her hereditary profession, proclaiming to save herself for the man that she loved, only to end up in this situation. "Virtue?" It was her turn to roll her eyes. "It is but a fig, 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Let no man otherwise decide. We are the gardeners to the fruit that is our own life, dear friend". She placed a gentled hand upon her friend's shoulder, squeezing before releasing the woman and gathering the wine glasses. "Aye, well I suppose I must be going. I cannot keep the men waiting too long, you know what impatient creatures they can be".
The two parted with a smile, the barmaid thanking her friend for her kind words and the other for her complimentary drinks. Both assured the other promptly that it was nothing, and were on their way towards their own individual destinies once more, though all the better for their re-introduction.
"Sorry, gents," Marcella smiled placing the glasses down. Her pools of brown eyes flickered to Andre, before resting on Dimitri's for much longer than societal norm. "We have been parted for quite some time, an' you know how us ladies may be. There was plentiful to talk about," she bit her lip once more to refrain from laughing at recall of Demelza's fawning for the men. "I trust everything has been quite alright?"
Today was another day, another destiny. Her heart felt heavy of the thought of having to leave the two brothers once more, when the drinks were finished and the party was over. It felt as though, here, she had found her identity: Marcel, the young warrior... a revolutionary. She was the definer of her own fate, nobody else.
As they reached the doors of the old tavern, the young lady bolstered them open with considerable force, entering first before beckoning for the gentlemen to follow her. She led them to the back corner, where there was a little breathing space compared to the ocean of the tavern, crawling with a sea of people. "I'll go an' fetch us some brandy wine," she assured them. "Do stay put. One could get awful lost in such a crowd like this".
That being said, she approached the bar slowly, ignoring looks of the men around her, both predatory and discriminatory. Her sharp eyes pierced behind the ale counter, before landing upon the face that she yearned to see.
"Sweet Demelza, 'tis nice to see you are still alive, more importantly still upholding a job somehow," both women chuckled, as Marcel leant her arm upon the counter to lean forth ward. The bar maid wrapped her arms around the small of the girls back, pulling her in to a lengthy squeeze of a hug.
"I think we both know it to be true vice versa. I hears you left the Royale Inn, I did, and I be worrying about your life. Your old mother even, she was tossin' and turnin' all night. In a right mood," she was completely oblivious to the cringe within Marcella's expression at the thought of that wretched place and her awful tormentor. "How be you? You here alone?"
"Aye, no. I'm with them two fancy gentle folk in the corner," they were hardly gentlemen, as much was clear, but they could read and it made them as luxurious as one could get within Versailles village. "We're 'ere for the speeches, well majority of us". She'd turned her body slightly, so that her eyes could view the soft and reassuring faces of her rescuers.
"I'd have me a piece of the one on the right anyway," Demelza giggled, twirling a piece of hair around her index finger. "Or the one on the left, mind you. Say, if they mention a certain urge, you must promise to send them my way. The customers back in Bleak House aren't so much fun these days, same men with the same borin' needs, so selfish too, but that one..." the two girls looked back at the men.
Little Marcella bit gently upon her lower lip. Although she wouldn't admit it, talk of such explicit content so freely, especially about her companions did make her feel a little uneasy.
"Well, I suppose you'll be wantin' a drink, or three, on the house and all," Demelza shook her head, beginning to pour out the three brandy wines. "I tell you girl, you'll be the death of me, or my job a'least. If ol' man Trelawney catches me-"
"He'd be too fine if he could remove his eyes from your bosoms. I think they quite make him blind, to both your actions and imperfections. 'Tis a wonder he ain't asked for your hand yet," Marcella downed the contents of her drinking promptly, before looking pleadingly to her friend for just one more.
The barmaid shook her head in disapproval, but began to pour once more. A soft snort came from her direction. "And ye think I'd accept him?" She put the bottle down and paused, before rolling her eyes. "Aye, I suppose I would. With this little un' on the way, I need every penny of support that I ought to get. And yet I wonder if he'd actually want a woman without virtue".
Virtue. Marcella winced once more. She'd denied her hereditary profession, proclaiming to save herself for the man that she loved, only to end up in this situation. "Virtue?" It was her turn to roll her eyes. "It is but a fig, 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Let no man otherwise decide. We are the gardeners to the fruit that is our own life, dear friend". She placed a gentled hand upon her friend's shoulder, squeezing before releasing the woman and gathering the wine glasses. "Aye, well I suppose I must be going. I cannot keep the men waiting too long, you know what impatient creatures they can be".
The two parted with a smile, the barmaid thanking her friend for her kind words and the other for her complimentary drinks. Both assured the other promptly that it was nothing, and were on their way towards their own individual destinies once more, though all the better for their re-introduction.
"Sorry, gents," Marcella smiled placing the glasses down. Her pools of brown eyes flickered to Andre, before resting on Dimitri's for much longer than societal norm. "We have been parted for quite some time, an' you know how us ladies may be. There was plentiful to talk about," she bit her lip once more to refrain from laughing at recall of Demelza's fawning for the men. "I trust everything has been quite alright?"
“Good Heavens, Roxanne! It would be the death of our class, for sure,” Estella’s eyes anxiously widened, like she rather recalled a deer’s did having been caught at last in a hunt. “Think of our families. The revolutionaries will have no bounds when such anger is thoroughly released. Whilst I do, truly, sympathise with the men that seek to fill the bellies of their poor and starving families, I cannot and will not submit myself to such hostility that goes against everything that this ancient hierarchy stands for. Pray, I understand,” she hushed her voice, before repeating, “I do understand that it is sincerely unfair that some of us fare much better than others with regards to that of the birth lottery of such. And yet, are you unfamiliar with the work of Thomas Hobbes? Without a leader, be it such tyranny as the gluttonous King and his ancienne nobles, only anarchy and chaos may thrive”.
Taking the book far away from the radical and placing it back in the cabinet, though not quite yet closing the door upon it, she shook her head. “Have reason. I understand why you would perceive it so, but our King fights our wars valiantly. He protects us from invasion, upkeeps our history, our culture. Everything we know as civilised society depends upon the crutch that is our rightful heir to the throne. You take him away, and we all fall down to the pits that such peasants are reduced to”. It was indoctrination, truly, that she believe this so. Although, had she not been told this her entire life, Estella would still see sense in this argument. “May we not help the poor some other way? We may bake for them, stitch for them, put food into those ravenous, starving bellies? Do you not think it be enough?”
They were running out of time.
They had to choose quickly on what to do.
Taking the book far away from the radical and placing it back in the cabinet, though not quite yet closing the door upon it, she shook her head. “Have reason. I understand why you would perceive it so, but our King fights our wars valiantly. He protects us from invasion, upkeeps our history, our culture. Everything we know as civilised society depends upon the crutch that is our rightful heir to the throne. You take him away, and we all fall down to the pits that such peasants are reduced to”. It was indoctrination, truly, that she believe this so. Although, had she not been told this her entire life, Estella would still see sense in this argument. “May we not help the poor some other way? We may bake for them, stitch for them, put food into those ravenous, starving bellies? Do you not think it be enough?”
They were running out of time.
They had to choose quickly on what to do.
Both writing samples are set in France, pre-revolution. #1 is a poor maiden. #2 is a noble lady. This is just a taster of my kind of writing, in order to evaluate compatibility.
However, such necessities aside...
Hello!
My name is Kas.
I've been on here and writing since I was 12, and boy now I'm 19. 7 years, I'm not superstitious, but it definitely flew by if nothing else.
I am utterly devoted to writing. It is my actual true love. As I am only a university student (WHOOP, go psychology!) I do have quite a bit of free time to write and you won't ever be waiting too long for a response. I'm preferably looking for a literate partner who can post a few times a week.
Currently, I'm only beginning season 4 of Poldark (don't spoil it don't spoil it don't spoil it). Therefore, I'd prefer to go AU.
I am looking for a partner who can write Canon, preferably a certain Warleggan or Armitage, and in return I shall write as any other for you.
Please, feel free to post questions below.
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