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rainbowfic2021-05-11 09:28 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2021-05-11 09:28 pm
Colour of the Day (11/05/21) [Divide & Rule]
Name: Staking Her Claim
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Colour of the Day 11/05/2021 (Ubeity)
Supplies and Styles: Photography + Graffiti (Written for May Challenge – Photography)
Word Count: 307
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Notes: Jul/Aug 1949; Julia Graves.
Summary: Julia’s tethered to reality by the house. It’s not immune to her presence, either.
***
Julia has barely existed for so long until now, but it’s different here, at last. In Paris, she was nowhere; in London she is very present in a particular space and time – this house, this summer, at 12 Chalcot Crescent.
It’s one of those narrow Georgian terraced houses so ubiquitous in London. The crescent is close to Primrose Hill, where Julia can walk across the grass and take in the sight of the city at a remove, before she returns to its smoggy embrace, hurrying along the pavement until she stops to mount the three white steps up to the front door.
The house has three storeys and a tiny basement kitchen. There’s a parlour, dining room and study downstairs; upstairs, a bathroom and two bedrooms, and on the top floor, two tiny rooms, empty save for oddments and lumber; they were the preserve of servants only a handful of decades ago.
It’s been rented out for years and it’s battered at the edges. Former tenants have left literal marks: odd stains on the green wallpaper in the study, and scratches on the woodwork. The furnishings are good quality, but worn, their fabric faded along with most of the curtains. They’ve absorbed the years and ghosts of past residents into themselves, replete with time as measured out by the grandmother clock in the hall. When she’s alone, Julia can hear its tick everywhere. She’s anchored by it; the heartbeat of the house.
Julia runs fingertips over the mustard coloured paper in the front parlour, and contemplates new shades to wrap it in. She explores all the house’s parts and stakes out what to mend or repaint or replace. She brings it back to life at her touch.
Number 12 is solid, real – more so than its owner is yet to her – and so too, now, is she.
***
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Colour of the Day 11/05/2021 (Ubeity)
Supplies and Styles: Photography + Graffiti (Written for May Challenge – Photography)
Word Count: 307
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Notes: Jul/Aug 1949; Julia Graves.
Summary: Julia’s tethered to reality by the house. It’s not immune to her presence, either.
***
Julia has barely existed for so long until now, but it’s different here, at last. In Paris, she was nowhere; in London she is very present in a particular space and time – this house, this summer, at 12 Chalcot Crescent.
It’s one of those narrow Georgian terraced houses so ubiquitous in London. The crescent is close to Primrose Hill, where Julia can walk across the grass and take in the sight of the city at a remove, before she returns to its smoggy embrace, hurrying along the pavement until she stops to mount the three white steps up to the front door.
The house has three storeys and a tiny basement kitchen. There’s a parlour, dining room and study downstairs; upstairs, a bathroom and two bedrooms, and on the top floor, two tiny rooms, empty save for oddments and lumber; they were the preserve of servants only a handful of decades ago.
It’s been rented out for years and it’s battered at the edges. Former tenants have left literal marks: odd stains on the green wallpaper in the study, and scratches on the woodwork. The furnishings are good quality, but worn, their fabric faded along with most of the curtains. They’ve absorbed the years and ghosts of past residents into themselves, replete with time as measured out by the grandmother clock in the hall. When she’s alone, Julia can hear its tick everywhere. She’s anchored by it; the heartbeat of the house.
Julia runs fingertips over the mustard coloured paper in the front parlour, and contemplates new shades to wrap it in. She explores all the house’s parts and stakes out what to mend or repaint or replace. She brings it back to life at her touch.
Number 12 is solid, real – more so than its owner is yet to her – and so too, now, is she.
***
no subject
no subject
1. prison
2. http://www.sciencephoto.com/image/517202/530wm/C0163786-Amish_women_quilting-SPL.jpg
3. https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/74/f8/06/74f8064919da0630f5a861e22646f7ab.jpg
4. power up
no subject