#~ #don't queue wish your girlfriend was hot like me
All Hollow’s Eve by Dorothea Tanning
#i won't go breaking queue heart #*
“When you’re playing somebody who’s going through a lot - frustration and hardship - you’re just purging all your emotions, and it feels really good to do that.”
#~ #queue go glen coco
Alla Nazimova, 1912
#queue are the best thing that's ever been mine #*
Amanda Seyfried @ LAByrinth Theater Company Celebrity Charades 2013 Benefit Gala (Oct 28, 2013)
#amanda seyfried is such a good role model i just #you go girl #four for you girl #*
"I looked better when I was 15. I had beautiful, huge breasts. Then I came to Hollywood and lost weight."
All the heat that had consumed Henry until he was close to nothing had gone almost as quickly as it had built up within him. As soon as it was done, his cold glare had returned, and the very wanton woman that had given him comfort for the night was the first to receive such a murderous stare. She was the price of a few loose change—he reminded her of this simply with his gaze—and yet, when she left, she had torn open the already gaping hole on Henry’s bed that had been filled by so many other women before her. It was she who walked out the back door and into the dark of the night, the zipper of her dress wide open and her sleeves still hanging off her shoulders, but it was Henry who had to clean up after the mess, after the repercussions, namely the loneliness that soon stung once he was alone. As it always did, the seclusion enveloped him, so much so until he was isolated from himself and he forgot his own person. The only thing that kept Henry from thinking through it was the fatigue that overrode the cold and caused him to fall into a deep sleep.
Now, the sun’s golden rays played across Henry’s skin, light and soft and innocent. For a while, he, too, was light and soft and innocent. He was neither the monster he knew himself to be nor the one that others perceived him as; he was simply a man under the beam of the light, rendered still under its quiet power, until little by little, the sunlight prompted his eyes open. There, in consciousness, Henry once more became more the monster and less himself—a person he had lost long ago. He had put on a thousand roles and a thousand masks even before he had gotten up from bed: that of a master, a leader, a boss, a fiancé, a lover, a man, all with roles and responsibilities to uphold and protect in this day and age. The weight of his pretence weighed him down, but Henry held his head high and his shoulders stiff, his posture showing only that of dignity as he put on a proper day’s clothing and headed out into the kitchen.
As with every morning, his maids smiled at him, out of remorse and necessary respect rather than true happiness, greeted him as he passed by them, though headed the other direction as soon as he had acknowledged their existence, and busied themselves over nothing in particular as he walked through the large hallway. There was a certain numbness that came with the routine: to walk, and to eat, and to breathe in a place he was to call home yet never truly felt at peace with. Everything was always in the right place; Henry’s maids knew better than to let even the shortest strand of hair fall out of line. That was why Henry had no reason to believe anything out of the ordinary would happen, not even now that Charlotta was around.
They, too, had fallen into a routine of sorts, despite the short amount of time his betrothed wife had stayed with him. Henry would pretend to be in love with her, as he had from the very beginning. He would be kind and he would be endearing, presenting to shower her with any lavish gift she did or did not ask for. Only good would slip from his lips, the roll of his tongue so accustomed to lie to a woman. Yet behind his smile would be an agenda, whether or not she was aware of it, and it would spill in his arrogance that was always bound to make him say the wrong thing. Charlotta, on the other hand, would smile in return—Henry could only assume she was trained to uphold that of a proper social grace. She would not falter against his actions, and the same condescending tone cut deep into her every word. There were times Henry would look at her beauty and wonder if he could make such a woman fall in love with him; he’d wonder what it would be like to be loved and be loved in return, for a split moment, when he sometimes looked into her eyes. But instances like that were rare, and the two, despite their actions, remained as distant as possible.
That was why the sight of an empty table rattled him out of his steady numbness. Surely, his cooks knew better than to be unprepared for breakfast once he had arrived, and surely, they had heard of what happened to the last batch of cooks who failed to comply. Surely, his maids knew better than to sway his instruction when he said he needed Charlotta to be waiting for him by the table, and surely, they knew the consequences of their actions. Henry was certain he had stressed these things more than enough for them to forget. Yet, here he was now, looking at a table without so much as utensils prepared for him. The sight registered quickly, and his booming voice echoed throughout the room until a maid was in front of him for questioning. One name escaped her lips, and that was all enough reason for Henry to send her away.
If only the anger that had grown within him were so easy to push away as well, then Henry would not have been standing beside the dinner table too long trying to swallow it down. If only he hadn’t been in some play pretend of a lover, then maybe he’d have no need to even pretend he wasn’t angry. But as it was, he had to do what he had to do and act accordingly before stepping into the part of the kitchen he usually didn’t tread on. “Charlotta, my love,” the murderous sting that usually came whenever his fiancé had spoken back proved evident now, “what are you doing? Come into the dinner table and let the cooks do their job. That is what I hire them for.” Though there was a smile on his lips, it was as cold as can be, and every hint of impatience slipped from every other part of his body.
The large house, and its many rooms, did not remain unfamiliar for long. Lottie amused herself by going from room to room and thinking of means to fill them, all the while becoming suitably acquainted with the household itself and taking great care in acting pleasant and gracious towards the staff, even committing Henry’s working hours to memory so that she could give them the odd hour or three off without him noticing. It wasn’t as if Lottie especially cared for them, but rather that they reminded her too much of the, now dead, staff aboard the ship. She wished to make amends and to redeem herself, but even more so, she wished to be wholly whole and holy again. As soon as she arrived at the house Lottie sought out the nearest church, attending every early morning service without fail, before the sun prompted the sky into waking and strokes of lavender and blue were creeping into the moonlit rush of day. The mornings themselves were reserved for the routine that she and Henry had stumbled upon and Lottie did not dare to disturb it, though she doubted that he would notice if she were gone and half the time she hoped that he wouldn’t. In the days that passed, Lottie learnt to pay less attention to him and his infuriating words and more to her newfound distractions. She visited orphanage with apologetic bundles of food and gifts in hand, refusing to cry about the children that reminded her of those who sunk with the ship until she was in the sanctity of her room. She planted bright flowers in the hopes that she could grow to mimic them, just as she bought new and beautiful clothes to try and feel new and beautiful too and cajoled the cooks into teaching her to cook so that she could impersonate the image of a good mother and wife.
Lottie awoke feeling drowned, her nightmares having gorged on perfumed nerves and beryl murky depths. She shook herself from her bed, grateful that such an early service meant that she did not have to dress to the extent that polite society required her too, smoothing a hand over her ruffled golden curls and moving to adorn it with a large simple hat, pulling a thick woolen coat over her nightdress while she fussed with the hems of her skirt. Cautiously, she padded downstairs and left for church, narrowly avoiding a stray maid. When she returned, slipping through the front door with a few curious looks from the staff, the house had already erupted into life. A small smile replaced her usual grimace, and in her calm she spent the rest of the morning attempting to make eggs and toast and pancakes and other breakfast foods, insisting that the cooks take the morning off when they offered her help. Originally, she had been making breakfast for herself and hadn’t noticed that she had prepared an extra portion, but at the sound of him coming towards the kitchen she jumped, gathering herself sharply as a complacent and skilled smile enveloped her features. Over the past few days, Henry had been adamant to keep up his charade. Mostly, she ignored him, granting him only a smile and a biting remark, but now that opportunity to unnerve him and, at the very least, anger him was here, she figured that she may as well beat him at his own game. Either that, or destroy him. She still wasn’t certain of which she preferred.
Just as Lottie finished burning his toast and started to burn his pancakes he walked into the kitchen, his presence fuelling her resolve and his words delighting her arrogance. “Darling,” she looked at him briefly as she spoke, pausing to turn back to the stove before her, a strangled sincerity breaking into her pleasant tone and cold eyes, “I’m making breakfast. I thought that you would appreciate the sentiment, sweetheart.” The endearments that fell from her curved mouth were saccharine and cutting and gave her momentary shame and lasting disgust, her movements lapsing for a second as she swallowed her hesitation. “You’ve been too kind, dearest. I wanted to thank you.” Henry had indeed made her stay comfortable, and had even presented her with boundless arrays of gifts and loving words, but Lottie had no doubt that it was all merely another part of his wager with himself, the thought of being someone’s bet causing the anger that seemed to always be there these days to rise. She swiveled to face him fully, her hands gripping the sides of the tray that held their plates and other utensils tightly and a falsified and furious smirk resting at her lips. “If you want anything, anything at all, dear,” she sauntered towards him with a swing in her hips, unaccustomed to the game but determined to win, crowding his purposefully and clumsily, her guarded eyes flitting to his and looking ready to ruin him as her lowered voice murmured a clear “ask me.” Armed with her head held high and her haughty manner finally intact, Lottie grinned at him, pretty and wolfish, as she straightened and danced around him, walking into the dining room intently and starting setting two lone places on the long table.
It was a warm enough morning to go sit and catch up on reading, he had thought to himself. David enjoyed reading outside with natural light instead indoors in his dimly lit office; it was less stuffy and it gave him the impression that he had all the time in the world to delve into another time and place altogether. The park was quiet enough, and while people passed by him going about their errands, he felt as if he were in his own space. It certainly was a quaint setting: the trees regaining their leaves after a cold winter that seemed to linger still, the grass a dark rich green, and the soothing beams of the sun bouncing lightly off everything they could touch. When he had picked his spot on a bench, he briefly took notice of a young woman just across him, who was slumbering at the time, before settling down to read his book.
The crispness of the air made it difficult to turn the pages, and a bit of a challenge to jot down notes of interest. It was a new book, or better worded, a book which had no annotations – his copy was at the bottom of the Atlantic, illegible and undoubtedly ruined. Fortunately, it was an easier book to come by, and he had scoured only a few bookshops to find a suitable copy. While he only suggested his students read the book as a supplement to their studies, he did get a few students asking questions about it, and so he made sure he had some of his own annotations to provide a different perspective.
All was relatively quiet when he heard a voice say something – he didn’t quite catch all of it, as his concentration was interrupted. David looked up from his book to see that the young woman was now awake and seemingly talking to him. The bold statement didn’t come as much of a surprise to him as much as that the lady was quite confident – perhaps overly confident – in her manner of speech; and her raised eyebrow seemed to challenge him to a discussion. It wasn’t his favorite book, but he felt that the author had valid enough theories. Still, he was always keen to listen to young minds, and this lady across from him seemed to have a very determined one. Closing the book, he placed it next to him before turning the cap back on his pen and tucking it into an inner pocket.
“A number of my students tell me that. What are your reasons for such a bold statement,” he asked, his voice resonating with hint of amusement and curiosity.
Without heeding her minds own newly-discovered philosophy, a violent giggle prodded her pressed mouth and then rang out into the trees above them, her head shaking along to the quick rhythm of her laughter in a weak affront to it. Lottie caught hold of her sensibilities in her haste, hugging her upturned lips tightly together once the laughter had fizzled to a close. “Its purposelessness,” neatly, she crossed her legs and tried to speak like she once imagined the sun spoke, thought in actuality she mimicked the moon with accidental reverence, “bothered me. He enforces his apparently controversial claims with practically no evidence, and that irritates me. The utter arrogance of it, too.” Her voice wintered as her words ceased, her forehead creasing as a loud burst of golden sunlight barging in through the trees for a soft minute before settling back into the morning glow. “I so wanted to like his book, and perhaps I would have, had he provided explanations for his viewpoints that were of his usual standard.” She leaned back into the bench, pleased with her bravery and feeling altogether remarkable.
It delighted her to talk of books as if they still resided inside her skin and possessed her existential form, though it delighted her more to not only be heard but also listened to. These days, she ached for human company, and though it did not differ greatly from her time back in Sweden, she found herself missing her homeland simply for the sake of missing something. Lottie shivered with the trees, the wind blowing them both to the side gently, and took a closer look at the man across from her, eager to distract her despondence. The man was not young, but he wasn’t old either, and seemed to be in that lull between irrationality and senility that Lottie hoped to one-day achieve. Maybe it was his face that prompted her into friendliness, the soft-featured face that seemed of a softly-featured person, or maybe it was her sudden attempt at confidence. “What do you teach?” She asked, pleasantly and with an almost brush of shyness, a cautious smile returning for him.#p: morning debates #prof-david-cooper #wow this is so late???/ #nearly a month omg pls don't hate me i'm so so so sorry
Bones | MS MR
dig up the bones but leave the soul alone