Post by Loppiainen on Dec 30, 2011 0:16:28 GMT -5
Look who's back!
Yes, I've returned from my prolonged absence. Unfortunately, I don't know how long it will be until I disappear again, as finals are fast approaching, and I've been ill.
However, I come with writing! Albeit very shabby, unfinished writing... It's writing, nonetheless! :)
This is heavily inspired by all of the Victorian Era films/serials I've been watching. Mainly Bleak House (to which there is a reference in this piece. If you've seen/read Bleak House, you can try to spot it).
Anyway, I'll get this fic really up and running when I figure out a direction for it to go in.
Oh, and on a related note; My other multi-chaptered fics may or may not be continued. Train to Eden, probably. The Prince and The Thief, probably not. We'll see.
Aaaand, here we go. Enjoy!
--------------------
"Ah, here we are- the Kelly Estate," Breathed a young man, presumably in his late teens or early twenties. "Known throughout London for its incredibly elegant parties."
"Look at it," The young lady to the right of him said. "Even the foyer is enormous."
"It is," The young man nodded.
"Shall we?" The lady asked.
"After you, madam," The man beamed, leading the lady up the front stairs, and toward the entrance to the ballroom.
Standing at the entrance, was a doorman- looking to be in his late fifties, wearing usual gentleman's varlet attire.
"I'm sorry, sir," The doorman stopped the young man by the shoulder when he tried to enter the ballroom. "I don't believe I recognize your face or your lady's. What might your name be?"
The young man raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, having not anticipated such an inquiry.
"My name is," He paused to think. "My name is Sir Robert Cross, of... Of York," he answered in the best faux-posh accent he could muster, knowing full well that he would not be allowed to pass if the doorman heard his very obvious Irish dialect.
"And she is?" The doorman asked, gesturing toward the young lady.
"This is my..." The young man quickly glanced at the lady beside him. "My fiancé, Miss Dominique Coulter."
The young lady glared at the young man, before clearing her throat and putting on a more pleasant face for the doorman.
"Very well," The doorman said. He stepped aside. "Proceed."
The young man and lady linked arms, and swiftly walked into the ballroom.
As soon as they were far enough from the entrance, the young lady jabbed the young man in the ribs with her elbow.
"Your 'fiancé, Miss Dominique Coulter'?!" She whispered harshly. "Paul!"
"I hadn't had time to think it over, Zara," Paul replied. "It was the first title to come to mind!"
Zara rolled her eyes.
"Hold on... Dominique Coulter," She said. "That's the name of the lady's maid in Sir Jarndyce's estate, is it not?"
"Yes," Paul confirmed hesitantly.
Zara slapped him on the arm.
"You filthy thing!" She scolded. "Using the name of the woman you've been seeing in secret as a false identity for your best mate!"
"Oi, our lie went undetected, so what does it matter whose name I used?" Paul said. "The point is, we're here. That's brilliant, yeah?"
Zara frowned.
"I suppose," She sighed. "However, have you even an idea as to what one is supposed to do at a typical English party?"
"I haven't the faintest," Paul grinned, taking Zara's arm, and dragging her off toward any activity he could find to occupy themselves with.
Yes, I've returned from my prolonged absence. Unfortunately, I don't know how long it will be until I disappear again, as finals are fast approaching, and I've been ill.
However, I come with writing! Albeit very shabby, unfinished writing... It's writing, nonetheless! :)
This is heavily inspired by all of the Victorian Era films/serials I've been watching. Mainly Bleak House (to which there is a reference in this piece. If you've seen/read Bleak House, you can try to spot it).
Anyway, I'll get this fic really up and running when I figure out a direction for it to go in.
Oh, and on a related note; My other multi-chaptered fics may or may not be continued. Train to Eden, probably. The Prince and The Thief, probably not. We'll see.
Aaaand, here we go. Enjoy!
--------------------
"Ah, here we are- the Kelly Estate," Breathed a young man, presumably in his late teens or early twenties. "Known throughout London for its incredibly elegant parties."
"Look at it," The young lady to the right of him said. "Even the foyer is enormous."
"It is," The young man nodded.
"Shall we?" The lady asked.
"After you, madam," The man beamed, leading the lady up the front stairs, and toward the entrance to the ballroom.
Standing at the entrance, was a doorman- looking to be in his late fifties, wearing usual gentleman's varlet attire.
"I'm sorry, sir," The doorman stopped the young man by the shoulder when he tried to enter the ballroom. "I don't believe I recognize your face or your lady's. What might your name be?"
The young man raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, having not anticipated such an inquiry.
"My name is," He paused to think. "My name is Sir Robert Cross, of... Of York," he answered in the best faux-posh accent he could muster, knowing full well that he would not be allowed to pass if the doorman heard his very obvious Irish dialect.
"And she is?" The doorman asked, gesturing toward the young lady.
"This is my..." The young man quickly glanced at the lady beside him. "My fiancé, Miss Dominique Coulter."
The young lady glared at the young man, before clearing her throat and putting on a more pleasant face for the doorman.
"Very well," The doorman said. He stepped aside. "Proceed."
The young man and lady linked arms, and swiftly walked into the ballroom.
As soon as they were far enough from the entrance, the young lady jabbed the young man in the ribs with her elbow.
"Your 'fiancé, Miss Dominique Coulter'?!" She whispered harshly. "Paul!"
"I hadn't had time to think it over, Zara," Paul replied. "It was the first title to come to mind!"
Zara rolled her eyes.
"Hold on... Dominique Coulter," She said. "That's the name of the lady's maid in Sir Jarndyce's estate, is it not?"
"Yes," Paul confirmed hesitantly.
Zara slapped him on the arm.
"You filthy thing!" She scolded. "Using the name of the woman you've been seeing in secret as a false identity for your best mate!"
"Oi, our lie went undetected, so what does it matter whose name I used?" Paul said. "The point is, we're here. That's brilliant, yeah?"
Zara frowned.
"I suppose," She sighed. "However, have you even an idea as to what one is supposed to do at a typical English party?"
"I haven't the faintest," Paul grinned, taking Zara's arm, and dragging her off toward any activity he could find to occupy themselves with.