Modern Day Dalliances (Or, How I learned to Loathe the mob)
Sept 22, 2014 17:09:22 GMT -8
Webmonkey, The Marquis, and 1 more like this
Post by Romio Julian Rosselini on Sept 22, 2014 17:09:22 GMT -8
Seattle, Washington
The United States of America
Well, here we are, and that's that. It's a fascinating review of history when I look back at all we've gone through, and all we've done, both good and bad.
My journals have, I would wager, an exotic portrayal of the unknowns behind the real events of the past two hundred years. But if there's one thing I've learned from all this time (which is a ridiculous saying, because no one simply learns one thing from all their experiences, unless that person is a total bloody nincompoop), it's that history is absolutely full of excrement. And I mean that quite literally, as well as in the figurative and pejorative senses.
I think back to the close call Madame and I had in 1999 during the riots, when Prince FrenchyFace nearly shot his proverbial bolt and came at all of us like a runaway Slapchop, and the cautions that both I and William give to her. One can only hope that in these nights, the most dangerous of all in some fashions, that her Ladyship will continue to listen to our wise counsel.
Lady Keket and I continue to have the sort of relationship that we have naturally grown into; at times we are more like siblings, an older brother and younger sister, and in the private confines of our home we rather behave like it, I fear. But in public, our behaviour must conform to societal norms, as is proper. I keep trying to remind Her Ladyship that there is a proper way to go about everything, and while her opinion seems to be that my sensibilities are 'ridiculously old-fashioned', I remind her that society would be in complete disrepair should there not have been the building blocks upon which this 'modern era' was formed. My sensibilities are as sound as the British Empire; I can't help it if the damn fool rest of the world has become a madhouse full of imbeciles running about like Hottentots. I mean, REALLY.
In the last few years, I have done a lot of reading on something called the "sin eater"; I know it sounds terribly precocious, but as I am always searching for a better means with which to ensure my Lady's safety from all manner of dangers, both from physical threat and from the perils of the Judgmental Afterlife, I took it upon myself to learn how best to keep her safe and her soul as intact as possible. I still routinely go and make confession to the priests of the local Cathedral, and take her burden of guilt on as my own; but I have also begun employing the practice of sin-eating, which is to say that, during the day, when Her Ladyship is in the embrace of death, I will place fruit and edibles in the proper manner around her and on her chest, and make the necessary prayers and recitations. Afterwards, I consume the food in a manner that will bestow on me the crimes of her sins, and leave her blameless in the eyes of whatever God still looks down upon her. At least, that is what I fervently hope.
I had another awful nightmare. This time it was Private Falkes climbing through MY guts, pushing away the blasted rotting insides as he scrambled to freedom through the mountain of corpses. I was paralyzed but still able to feel his fingers scrabbling across my belly, and then he pushed right through my chest, disappearing from view like a horrific reverse birthing. I took the liberty of having my quarters sound-proofed many years back, so as not to disturb anyone with my screams. It took liberally dosing with the 16 year Scotch before the tremors began to subside from my body.
I believe that I will ask Miss Lilian out to another symphony, she does rather seem to enjoy those, though Madame rolls her eyes and poo-poos the idea, saying that it's only Lilian coddling my outdated musical tastes. But I swear, if I have to go to another of those blasted punk rock/death metal/ whatever-the-bloody-hell-you-call-it crucifixions of 'music' that William has been scheduling Madame to go to, I shall *probably* commit Hara-kiri. How on EARTH can she not understand that mucking about in a circle of wild-men like a Perditioned three-winged chicken with her unmentionables bandying about is NOT behaviour becoming a Lady!?
However, I'll be a three-toed sloth before I let THAT blaggard steal more of my time with Madame, so he can schedule all the damnable atrocities to good taste that he wants; it shan't move me from my course.
I hear Madame stirring in her chambers, so I must attend her.
))