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[16 May 2011|04:29pm] |
Dear IJ;
Please to not be deleting my alternate personalities.
Danke.
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| Sun Siren |
[17 Dec 2009|06:13pm] |
Croissants de France was a bit overpriced, and the name of the place was woefully kitschy, but Emmeline had to admit, they did make the very best petits fours on the island. Not the best idea for a breakfast food, particularly in a climate that led Emmeline to spend a good portion of her time clad in naught more than a swimsuit, but on occasion she had to indulge. A quick stop at a coffee house not far down the road, and she was fully equipped for a pleasant morning spent in The Garden.
The shop door sent a musical jingling of bells as Emmeline pushed it open and she smiled, closing her eyes a moment to breathe in the scent of a myriad of flowers perfuming the air. It was warmer in the shop, for the benefit of all the beautiful blooms, and Emmeline felt the heat of the two large paper cups she balanced in a carboard carrier pulsing against her side. Careful to balance the pink box of pastry she carried in the opposite hand, she adjusted the multicolored woven bag over her shoulder and let the door swing shut behind her.
( Would Be Nice )
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| Going Overboard |
[14 Nov 2009|07:57pm] |
The morning had been... unproductive, at best. Useless was a better term, or even wasted, but Emmeline refused to surrender to apathy and preferred to think it had simply been a quiet rest. When she had found herself rewriting the same paragraph for the fifth time, she'd given up, grabbed her dive bag and a snorkel and headed to the shore.
The dive master smiled when he saw her. "Afternoon, Em," he called cheerfully. "Hitting the water today? Thought we weren't diving the Vandenberg again till next week."
Emmeline smiled in return, dropping the knitted bag carrying her equipment on a battered wooden table in the dive master's storefront. Taking a moment to untangle a black hair-tie from the scattering of beaded bracelets on her wrist, Emmeline busied herself pulling her long dark hair into a haphazard ponytail.
"Nothing too deep, Harry. Just felt like taking a surface peek. Heard you'd spotted some gorgeous brain coral last weekend, I'd love to see it."
The grizzled old diver chuckled, slugging back the last of his lukewarm coffee. "Sure, sure thing, I'll take you out," he agreed. "But no more souvenirs, Miss Emmeline. You're going to get me into trouble."
Emmeline just smiled.
On the deck of a small diving boat a little way from the Key West shoreline, Emmeline Keddle untied the straps of her ankle-length sundress and let it fall in a puddle around her ankles, in full view of the old dive master and a handful of tourist divers on board. In another world and another life, the same woman might be horrified at the thought of being seen in such a state of undress, a swimsuit far too skimpy for her sensibilities, and grip the sleeves of her sweater tightly, brow furrowed in worry that such a thing might occur. But here, in this world, Emmeline paid little mind to the others and dove overboard, snorkel and a titanium dive knife in the bag tied to her wrist.
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