wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)

Rosemary Lane

Ah to be broken into joy.

“Oh Rose,” Jack sighed with his head lolling on the lathed smoothness of my shoulder, “you have quite killed me.”

The little death, and my poor frock all torn and my petticoats disarrayed; by pleasure.

The rumpled sheets their every crease proclaiming; “what ho, mischief in the Master’s house!” And I myself so gleefully destroyed, reduced to spastic judders and twitches – peering through eyes sticky with fallen lashes, whose insides were ruptured and brazenly exposed, cogs and levers, my pretty hinges, the secret inner workings all revealed.

“And where is the lad eh? Where is the sailor boy?” My father swung his head from side to side as if to find the culprit, the enactor of his ruination would be crouching behind a cabinet, skulking shame-faced behind the marionette of the Great Ozu.

But Jack had gone at first light with a jaunty step, a tip of his cap and three shiny coins laid on the bed. Jack had gone and it was for Jill to go tumbling after...

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Rosemary Lane

And if I am a place call me Rosemary Lane, it is a good name.

As I am but a child, slip a penny into my hand and call me anything, I can be anyone. If I have feeling call me Love. As I have purpose call me service. As I can sing, call this my tale; it is the song of my life, the song of pipes, jenny-wheels and gears, pneumatics, the hiss of the bellows and the wheezing of tubes.

Some say I have a secret, a heartbeat, a life concealed inside, that there is a being hidden inside me, a person. But who does NOT have a being inside them?

I’m under house arrest, I’m under close inspection. All that is left of me and the now is a ruined reputation. I am struggling to order, to think, to place in sequence the parts of the tale, the pieces of me.

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wytchcroft: heavent sent (eye has)

PT 2: The Second Skein

Once through the fabric partition of the Great Fabrizi’s study and the small door concealed by it, the Great Magician and the Aetheric Assassin stood in a chamber of small proportions and little furniture. A small wicker chaise-lounge and a row of drawers such as an architect might have to store his papers and plans. What the Great Fabrizi kept, of course, were the blue prints and sketching for his theatrical magic tricks.

“Many men would sorely like to obtain the secrets kept here,” the Great Fabrizi acknowledged.

“Then I am privileged,” replied the Assassin politely. “You may rest assured, - I am no thief.”

“It had not crossed my mind that you were, though I’ll admit, thinking about it now; your talent could no doubt be used in such a way.” For a moment the Great Magician’s face expressed suspicion but this passed and in a trice the old zealous enthusiasm was back. “Well, no matter, for this is but an antechamber – a prelude to adventure, in our case, yea, a veritable aperitif, to the main course that awaits us.” By now he was gripping and twisting a gilt picture frame that hung from one of the deep crimson papered walls. “A course that is – of action!”

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wytchcroft: heavent sent (eye has)

Pt 1: A Study in Shadow

It was a murky but otherwise unremarkable Wednesday evening, in the March of a year best labelled 'Vintage 1882', that the Great Fabrizi looked up from the desk in his richly draped and half darkened cocoon of a study, and peered through his spectacles into the eyes of inevitable doom. “Ah,” he said, nodding almost imperceptibly to the bringer of his demise, “it has come then at last, to this...” it was not a question. Nevertheless, having shimmered into existence as if solidifying out of the very shadows of the room, the Aetheric Assassin returned the nod politely and said, “even so.”

Slowly, for he wished to enjoy every sensation of skin, blood pulse, tendon and muscle while he was still able, and being no doubt privately astonished to discover he was neither driven from his wits, insensible nor even very much a-tremble, the famous Magician rose from his desk. He gestured again with his head, this time toward the crystal radio in its imposing mahogany and ivory cabinet and which was still, and without irony, playing a selection of light musical pieces courtesy of the Royal Alexandria Palace.

“I will admit, had I had any say in the matter, that I would have chosen perhaps a graver musical accompaniment to my execution. However, I am not one to complain and certainly your mode of transport,” once more the directive nod, “is uniquely impressive – astonishing really, and worthy of respect.”

“Thank you,” said the Aetheric Assassin politely.

Read more... )

thanks to alex, alicia, and stosha for the insp!
hope this chapter affords some small amusement...
wytchcroft: heavent sent (cushing)

O Come ye Angels full of light
Your gifts bestow good hearts take flight
As prayers with wings may pierce the night
And come at last to heavens bright.

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wytchcroft: heavent sent (walking)

phial 4

It is the pressure of a diving bell, the tension an adult feels watching a child make fists from adamant fingers and press them to its ears, the claustrophobia of a railway waiting-room on a rain-lashed warm spring day. It is the desire for air, for life, that grips the drowning man out at sea – or lost in the thick of a nightmare desperately clawing for wakefulness.

And in the grip of this invisible vice, we are of course, quiet, restrained, civilised beyond reason.
Read more... )
wytchcroft: heavent sent (cushing)

phial three

It is a paradox for a shy man such as myself, one whom carries the weighty cross of humorous reputation, that even as I find the scowls and frowns of those about me to be something of a balm – so I inevitably find a way to remove them, by which I mean replace them with chuckles and mirth, much at my expense – and I am not a wealthy man. 

It was, I believe, William Digby who, upon seeing me for the first time as I stumbled on the treacherous flooring of a dressing room door, pronounced my doom in solemn tones; “Ah” he said, “I see the comic relief has arrived.”
Read more... )
wytchcroft: heavent sent (blue)

(rather a sombre chapter this one.)

phial two

I think perhaps it has to do with time and its interactions with us – the ordering, structure and composition of time, time and the spirit so often mutually antagonistic may yet be revealed as close as kin.

I am staring at the clock.
Read more... )

wytchcroft: heavent sent (cushing)

Phial One:
Given that a man has five senses, that the elements of our universe number in accordance five and that the number of phials left by Dr Poliakov is of that same number, it seems appropriate that there should be five of us willing to undergo this experiment, this experience.
Read more... )
wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)

When the Doctor of Locks met the man with the box
he asked “Is it true you're the Master of Shocks?
And is that the reason you wear rubber socks
when digging for dangerous treason and plots?”

Read more... )

wytchcroft: heavent sent (future)

Thanks luv, don’t mind if I do.

I have to change the Dictaphone tape and the old woman scrutinizes me as I do so, her gaze is a bit un-nerving.

Got yer piqued in’ I?

Well, as I said, we’re all very interested.

Hah hah! Look at him – like the cat on the proverbial! Hah hah!

It’s ready, I say.

Read more... )
wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)

That was back in the war of course.

The old woman finishes her tea with a slurp born of indifference to me and my colleagues - indeed to people in-toto.

Weren't you all evacuated back then? I ask. That's what we're always told.

Well of course, what with His Nibs and the boys up to no good on land and sea and - d'you know why my generation all hate clowns? It’s the balloons see? Just like the bloody King's. Him and that bloody bitch of a Queen lapping up the Empire between them like hungry dogs to a dish.

Mind you, that was after...


Read more... )



wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)

There was something about the eyes of the stranger - looking at me unwavering through the red streaked dark. I could see them so clearly set into the pale face, see them clear through the soot and ash and sparks about us, clear through the thick layers coating the windows of my face plate, clear through the sweat in my own eyes that was making me blink and squint.
There was something…
the concusion... )
wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)

There was no time to be lost. Rolling sideways off the trolley I pulled it with me, vainly trying to ignore the pain as it toppled over with a crash onto my arm - pinning me to the spot but keeping the precious hose out of harm’s way and still pointing roughly where I wanted. Slithering on the hot damp floor I struggled to find Bert. I could still hear him murmuring from my ear piece.
what happened next... )
wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)


Attach pack to skull. (fig 1.1) Crank the plunger and the trigger. (fig1.2)
Insert needle into the back of the cranium. (fig 1.3)
Depress plunger. (fig 2)
After 15 seconds release trigger. (fig 3)
Once the Memory Pack is empty remove needle and detach pack from skull. (fig 4)

part two... )
wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)
this is the first part of a quick story i scribbled down after being inspired by an article about antique fire fighting equipment in ru_steampunk here -
this image is taken from there.

The face behind the glass.
part one... )

Memory Lane

Jan. 3rd, 2009 07:48 am
wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)

This story (the prequel to Babylon Dutch, for those who have read it and a newer version than than that seen by two people here on lj) has its tongue firmly in its cheek...
here it be )
wytchcroft: heavent sent (Summer)
[Error: unknown template qotd] Is this ok? Sure, uh-huh. Well, my name is Lucy  - hi, it's really nice to be picked for this, but I guess what I do is important even if I'm not. Not really anyway - not much. 
under the top soil... )


wytchcroft: heavent sent (Default)

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