RE: MORITURI TE SALUTANT!! [S!4]
06-21-2016, 05:28 PM
On Monday, Jofranka unpacked her caravan for the last time. Up until now, she took part in reenactments of the play, helping out backstage, creating unguents and potions that would make the actors up without killing them from arsenic poisoning. But she was getting a little old for the trip now, and plus, she had a masters’ degree to study for (Business and Accounting). So she moved into a little cottage, just on the outskirts of Napoli, with a nice back garden where she planted tomatoes and watercress.
On Tuesday, she visited her parents’ graves. Mama was of course long dead, but her father had held on for long enough to allow some teary goodbyes. He was buried next to her in the Napoli graveyard, still in his stagehand blacks.
On Wednesday, a group of curious children asked her about the time she met the Third Angel. She was happy to tell them what little there was, though she would never realize how important her little role had been.
On Thursday, she went to see the dentist, who recommended a new toothbrush. They spent the next fifteen minutes of the appointment talking about types of mouthwash and how best to keep them from child explorers. She was asked if she would care to do a spot of babysitting on the weekend. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “I’m not doing anything anyway.”
On Friday, she was struck with an existential crisis: perhaps she wasn’t Romany at all! After all, she had only been raised and socialized by one by a group of people who had imitated and maintained as much of the culture as they could over generations despite not even having a part in the play in most editions and whose actual ancestry could never really be tracked down but certainly she looked the part. This took up most of the day.
On Saturday, she babysat the dentist’s children, and let them play with her many-faceted crystals. She did more palm readings in an hour than she would have done in a month, since little Sal really wanted a future in which she had a pony. When the dentist came to pick them up, she said to her that it had been a full day, and to maybe look into pony sales.
On Sunday, she rested.
On Tuesday, she visited her parents’ graves. Mama was of course long dead, but her father had held on for long enough to allow some teary goodbyes. He was buried next to her in the Napoli graveyard, still in his stagehand blacks.
On Wednesday, a group of curious children asked her about the time she met the Third Angel. She was happy to tell them what little there was, though she would never realize how important her little role had been.
On Thursday, she went to see the dentist, who recommended a new toothbrush. They spent the next fifteen minutes of the appointment talking about types of mouthwash and how best to keep them from child explorers. She was asked if she would care to do a spot of babysitting on the weekend. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “I’m not doing anything anyway.”
On Friday, she was struck with an existential crisis: perhaps she wasn’t Romany at all! After all, she had only been raised and socialized by one by a group of people who had imitated and maintained as much of the culture as they could over generations despite not even having a part in the play in most editions and whose actual ancestry could never really be tracked down but certainly she looked the part. This took up most of the day.
On Saturday, she babysat the dentist’s children, and let them play with her many-faceted crystals. She did more palm readings in an hour than she would have done in a month, since little Sal really wanted a future in which she had a pony. When the dentist came to pick them up, she said to her that it had been a full day, and to maybe look into pony sales.
On Sunday, she rested.
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So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
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Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime