Week 5 - Toi Toi Toi
Jul. 27th, 2025 06:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marjoricaHe swept elegantly onto a chair, pulling the tails of his green velvet coat to one side and placing his chapeau bras before him on the table. He immediately called for a teapot of boiling water and cups.
“Will you be joining me in a cup of tea, my dear?” he asked, turning to regard her with eyes of the purest green that she had ever seen. They were like spring leaves spun into glass.
Janet stiffened somewhat at his air of familiarity.
“I am afraid that I do not know you, sir,” she said as firmly as was proper.
“But we do know one another,” he said with a smile. “I am quite cut that you do not know me again. I will admit that it has been some years since we saw one another last. I recognised you as Miss Janet Fane and all grown up too! You will remember me as Lord Oliver.”
She opened her mouth to retort that he could have learned her name from any number of sources, but she closed it again. This was, after all, not a venue where the disreputable were suffered to enter. On the contrary, this was some of the most carefully handpicked and vouched for society in the history of England. Besides which, she swore that she could recall a Lord Oliver, now that she thought of it.
“Of course,” she murmured. “You must forgive me. Have you been back in London long?”
“Not nearly long enough in some regards. Too long in others,” he twinkled. “Now, tea. You must put that dreadful lemonade to one side. I swear that the kitchens must only expend one lemon per night and that is scarcely waved in front of the jugs. The tea here is dust, so I bring my own. For the apogée of British society, the refreshments here are quite lacking.”
He pulled a small caddy out of his pocket and unlocked it with a golden key. He fussed over the preparations, the stirring and the brewing.
“I recall that you make a point of never taking sugar. Quite right, as there has not been a teaspoonful yet that was not produced through slavery and torment. Aesthetically, this is very much one of my favourite eras, yet there must always be ugliness on the obverse side. Now,” he said, triumphantly, “let this cool a little and then tell me if this is not a fine cup of tea!”
The liquid entered cup like a dark amber brook. Bringing the vessel to her nose, she fancied that it smelled faintly of plum pudding. She hoped that it might taste like it too, the way that she had imagined tea would when she was a child. Much too expensive to waste upon the young.
“When I saw you sitting here, I asked myself whatever might be wrong,” Lord Oliver said. “You have come all the way here, a place dedicated to dancing and the meeting of young men. Your attire is quite exquisite and your hair did not arrange itself so becomingly by happenstance, yet you are sitting off to the side.”
“Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”
“That would not be it. Little Jenny Fane loved to show a good foot. Could it be that no-one wishes to dance with you? That can not be! For your marriage portion is notably generous and both your disposition and appearance are most amiable.”
Janet took a sip of her tea. It was utterly delicious, its hint of spice masking her irritation at what was plainly an impertinent line of questioning.
“Nevertheless, I am not inclined to dance. I am here at the behest of my mother.”
“She must be keen to see you married. Do you not wish to be married?”
Janet drank more deeply.
“The only man who I would ever have consented to marry was killed in the war on the Peninsula two years ago. With him died all such hopes.”
“Ah yes. I had quite forgotten that you people were at war. I get so caught up in all of the pretty clothes and pretty manners. Tell me, do you imagine that Lord Rowan’s waist can really be so slender and his stomach so flat or do you believe that he has resorted to corsetry? No, we must address your forlorn hopes. You know that your lives are not so very long so you may as well make the most of your time and rejoice. You could honour your lost love by finding the strength to find another.”
“No,” said Janet. Her tea tasted strange and bitter all at once.
“But how will you live? Do you not want a home of your own?”
“I have quite enough money to live well enough on my own. Exceptionally well if I am attached to another household. If I can remain agreeable and keep an eye upon my investments, I imagine that I should make a welcome addition to any household as Aunt Jenny.”
“But do you never look at what your sisters have and wish that you could be like them? Does your iris-soft skin not deserve to be stroked by a lover? Do you not deserve the admiration of your peers for making a successful match? Would you not prefer decades of memories with a husband to look back upon fondly instead of a few whispering ghosts that you can barely recognise? Ought you to deny yourself the bittersweet joy of young?”
“No, Lord Oliver,” Janet whispered, her nose full of the scent of tears that she refused to shed. Not here. “None of those things are to be mine.”
“What if I could snap my fingers or give you a philtre that would let you change your mind? You are so fair and full of flesh that you must not waste your time alive.”
Janet blinked and looked again at Lord Oliver. His eyes were indeed as green as spring leaves and matched the mossy, silken velvet of his coat. His waistcoat, so unremarked upon amidst the verbiage and tea, was buttoned with perfect golden acorns. The silk of his white cravat was fine enough to be gossamer and pinned with another acorn. A memory came back to her, very vague, of when she had been little Jenny Fane who had danced everywhere, even three times widdershins around the old well. She should never do that, she had been told, So many things she should never do…
Janet reached her index finger into the teacup and used it to paint a cross on Lord Oliver’s forehead.
“In the name of the Trinity, I have no use for thee.”
And then he was gone, leaving nothing behind him but a stained teacup.
She stared. She swallowed. Then she hurried to find herself a partner for the next set of dances.
***
Vote by Thursday here https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/1192630.html
“Will you be joining me in a cup of tea, my dear?” he asked, turning to regard her with eyes of the purest green that she had ever seen. They were like spring leaves spun into glass.
Janet stiffened somewhat at his air of familiarity.
“I am afraid that I do not know you, sir,” she said as firmly as was proper.
“But we do know one another,” he said with a smile. “I am quite cut that you do not know me again. I will admit that it has been some years since we saw one another last. I recognised you as Miss Janet Fane and all grown up too! You will remember me as Lord Oliver.”
She opened her mouth to retort that he could have learned her name from any number of sources, but she closed it again. This was, after all, not a venue where the disreputable were suffered to enter. On the contrary, this was some of the most carefully handpicked and vouched for society in the history of England. Besides which, she swore that she could recall a Lord Oliver, now that she thought of it.
“Of course,” she murmured. “You must forgive me. Have you been back in London long?”
“Not nearly long enough in some regards. Too long in others,” he twinkled. “Now, tea. You must put that dreadful lemonade to one side. I swear that the kitchens must only expend one lemon per night and that is scarcely waved in front of the jugs. The tea here is dust, so I bring my own. For the apogée of British society, the refreshments here are quite lacking.”
He pulled a small caddy out of his pocket and unlocked it with a golden key. He fussed over the preparations, the stirring and the brewing.
“I recall that you make a point of never taking sugar. Quite right, as there has not been a teaspoonful yet that was not produced through slavery and torment. Aesthetically, this is very much one of my favourite eras, yet there must always be ugliness on the obverse side. Now,” he said, triumphantly, “let this cool a little and then tell me if this is not a fine cup of tea!”
The liquid entered cup like a dark amber brook. Bringing the vessel to her nose, she fancied that it smelled faintly of plum pudding. She hoped that it might taste like it too, the way that she had imagined tea would when she was a child. Much too expensive to waste upon the young.
“When I saw you sitting here, I asked myself whatever might be wrong,” Lord Oliver said. “You have come all the way here, a place dedicated to dancing and the meeting of young men. Your attire is quite exquisite and your hair did not arrange itself so becomingly by happenstance, yet you are sitting off to the side.”
“Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”
“That would not be it. Little Jenny Fane loved to show a good foot. Could it be that no-one wishes to dance with you? That can not be! For your marriage portion is notably generous and both your disposition and appearance are most amiable.”
Janet took a sip of her tea. It was utterly delicious, its hint of spice masking her irritation at what was plainly an impertinent line of questioning.
“Nevertheless, I am not inclined to dance. I am here at the behest of my mother.”
“She must be keen to see you married. Do you not wish to be married?”
Janet drank more deeply.
“The only man who I would ever have consented to marry was killed in the war on the Peninsula two years ago. With him died all such hopes.”
“Ah yes. I had quite forgotten that you people were at war. I get so caught up in all of the pretty clothes and pretty manners. Tell me, do you imagine that Lord Rowan’s waist can really be so slender and his stomach so flat or do you believe that he has resorted to corsetry? No, we must address your forlorn hopes. You know that your lives are not so very long so you may as well make the most of your time and rejoice. You could honour your lost love by finding the strength to find another.”
“No,” said Janet. Her tea tasted strange and bitter all at once.
“But how will you live? Do you not want a home of your own?”
“I have quite enough money to live well enough on my own. Exceptionally well if I am attached to another household. If I can remain agreeable and keep an eye upon my investments, I imagine that I should make a welcome addition to any household as Aunt Jenny.”
“But do you never look at what your sisters have and wish that you could be like them? Does your iris-soft skin not deserve to be stroked by a lover? Do you not deserve the admiration of your peers for making a successful match? Would you not prefer decades of memories with a husband to look back upon fondly instead of a few whispering ghosts that you can barely recognise? Ought you to deny yourself the bittersweet joy of young?”
“No, Lord Oliver,” Janet whispered, her nose full of the scent of tears that she refused to shed. Not here. “None of those things are to be mine.”
“What if I could snap my fingers or give you a philtre that would let you change your mind? You are so fair and full of flesh that you must not waste your time alive.”
Janet blinked and looked again at Lord Oliver. His eyes were indeed as green as spring leaves and matched the mossy, silken velvet of his coat. His waistcoat, so unremarked upon amidst the verbiage and tea, was buttoned with perfect golden acorns. The silk of his white cravat was fine enough to be gossamer and pinned with another acorn. A memory came back to her, very vague, of when she had been little Jenny Fane who had danced everywhere, even three times widdershins around the old well. She should never do that, she had been told, So many things she should never do…
Janet reached her index finger into the teacup and used it to paint a cross on Lord Oliver’s forehead.
“In the name of the Trinity, I have no use for thee.”
And then he was gone, leaving nothing behind him but a stained teacup.
She stared. She swallowed. Then she hurried to find herself a partner for the next set of dances.
***
Vote by Thursday here https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/1192630.html
no subject
Date: 2025-07-27 06:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-27 10:59 am (UTC)I can never think of anything good to put as comments on other people’s pieces, so I am particularly impressed when I see yours.
Btw that is not damning with faint praise. I really do enjoy your comments as well as your work.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-27 01:34 pm (UTC)Maybe it’s me, but “iris skin” made me think purple rather than white. Just FWIW.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-27 05:31 pm (UTC)I have edited it to iris-soft as a compromise as I have no idea how much it would be cheating to just say ‘petal’ or use another flower that is incontrovertibly not an amusing colour. Lily-white would be a huge cliché to add to the pot! Things to note in the grey area after I have submitted and before the deadline!
Thank you, in brief!
no subject
Date: 2025-07-27 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-27 07:02 pm (UTC)I don’t want to be hunted down with pitchforks and flaming torches. Not again!
no subject
Date: 2025-07-27 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-27 05:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-28 02:09 am (UTC)I like how these simple sentences put us on alert that "Lord Oliver" probably is not who he says he is.
I also liked that you tied the Devil so strongly into nature, as if he rose from the earth itself. This makes me think a little of the tone of "The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue," which I quite enjoyed.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-28 02:45 am (UTC)Thank you for being so kind about my piece!
no subject
Date: 2025-07-29 02:00 am (UTC)I kept trying to imagine a tea that tasted like plum pudding- and I'm afraid I wouldn't care for it, but if I were a child- maybe! My grandparents used to make us tea before school- tiny little cups (almost doll sized) of it loaded with milk and sugar. I still like a milky tea, but I never add sugar anymore.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-29 02:13 am (UTC)I like Yorkshire Tea, which really did smell like plum pudding to me when I first had it. Next best is Earl Grey, because who doesn’t want to smell flowery citrus when having a cuppa?
The question of tea gets a bit complex round these here parts because we are stereotypes who also talk a lot about the weather and are quasi religious about queuing. Wish I were kidding!
no subject
Date: 2025-07-29 02:35 am (UTC)I love some earl grey myself. I always gravitate towards the black teas. It's rare that I get to share my tea love with anyone though. It's my solitary pleasure in the morning- just me and the dog, and the dog only hangs out in the hope that I'll be sharing a hard boiled egg or a piece of toast with him.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-29 03:35 am (UTC)Tea is good. One version of paradise is the tea hall at Fortnum and Mason.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-29 03:25 am (UTC)Ah well, at least the experience motivated her to dance. :)
Dan
no subject
Date: 2025-07-29 03:35 am (UTC)Thank you
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Date: 2025-07-29 10:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-29 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-29 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-29 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-30 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-30 11:07 am (UTC)Vicious little buggers to a man!
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2025-07-30 07:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-30 11:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-30 03:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-30 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-30 08:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-30 09:35 pm (UTC)