Elizabeth Tudor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
1mistress_nomaster) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
niteo_logs2012-05-16 12:12 am
1mistress_nomaster) wrote in niteo_logs2012-05-16 12:12 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Characters: Elizabeth Tudor, Open
When: [Forward Dated to:] 19th of May
Where: Her sewing chair, common room thing.
Rating: PG
Summary: Feels. Alcohol. How depressing it is to have all your stories end in "and then they were executed." Also: drinking from mid morning is perfectly acceptable for Tudor-times. Triggery? For executions and general horribleness?
Elizabeth prided herself on her mask. Chipped as it was in places, it did not take much for her to smile and cover almost every ill completely until something made her snap. To breeze by like she was unaffected when otherwise her heart was in her throat. So when it slipped, she was left at the strangest feeling of vulnerability. Today happened to be one of those days, where it felt like it was falling out of her hands again, when for sheer anniversaries sake, her mind strayed from her otherwise tight hold. She couldn’t find the energy to be her usual self, her hair was left free, her dress plain black and as she took up her usual seat for sewing, it felt a physical effort to summon a smile. She longed for company, but had long since lost the ability to ask for it.
Her design for sewing was simple, and selfishly only for her, though she’d promised to do things for others (they were at a bundle in a basket next to her chair). A swan with red edging. The mundane action let her mind drift, and the more it drifted, the more she drank, forgetting to even eat. A glass for her fierce mother, whose bold day it was. Another for her father, and Jane Seymour. Half a bottle for Katherine Howard, another half for her brother and sister. A bitter mouthful for Thomas Seymour and Katherine Parr. It became almost calculated. Dudley, Wolsingham, and the decision she had to make. Duty, her country and loneliness. The horror of being in this place, when speaking to Thor and Loki had made her miss her home so much.
By the time she reached half way through the third bottle some time had passed, she was feeling light headed and she sunk back into the chair. She longed for home, of her ladies to sit with, as they laughed over this Lord or that Lady. She fell into memories, and found solace like that. The sewing fell out of her hands, the red thread unravelling as it hit the ground, the swan missing all but it’s head, she drifted off into a unhappy doze, light as it was. The bottles and her half filled glass by her feet, rather telling proof of how much she had drunk. There was enough left, that someone else could have a glass too, should they want it.
When: [Forward Dated to:] 19th of May
Where: Her sewing chair, common room thing.
Rating: PG
Summary: Feels. Alcohol. How depressing it is to have all your stories end in "and then they were executed." Also: drinking from mid morning is perfectly acceptable for Tudor-times. Triggery? For executions and general horribleness?
Elizabeth prided herself on her mask. Chipped as it was in places, it did not take much for her to smile and cover almost every ill completely until something made her snap. To breeze by like she was unaffected when otherwise her heart was in her throat. So when it slipped, she was left at the strangest feeling of vulnerability. Today happened to be one of those days, where it felt like it was falling out of her hands again, when for sheer anniversaries sake, her mind strayed from her otherwise tight hold. She couldn’t find the energy to be her usual self, her hair was left free, her dress plain black and as she took up her usual seat for sewing, it felt a physical effort to summon a smile. She longed for company, but had long since lost the ability to ask for it.
Her design for sewing was simple, and selfishly only for her, though she’d promised to do things for others (they were at a bundle in a basket next to her chair). A swan with red edging. The mundane action let her mind drift, and the more it drifted, the more she drank, forgetting to even eat. A glass for her fierce mother, whose bold day it was. Another for her father, and Jane Seymour. Half a bottle for Katherine Howard, another half for her brother and sister. A bitter mouthful for Thomas Seymour and Katherine Parr. It became almost calculated. Dudley, Wolsingham, and the decision she had to make. Duty, her country and loneliness. The horror of being in this place, when speaking to Thor and Loki had made her miss her home so much.
By the time she reached half way through the third bottle some time had passed, she was feeling light headed and she sunk back into the chair. She longed for home, of her ladies to sit with, as they laughed over this Lord or that Lady. She fell into memories, and found solace like that. The sewing fell out of her hands, the red thread unravelling as it hit the ground, the swan missing all but it’s head, she drifted off into a unhappy doze, light as it was. The bottles and her half filled glass by her feet, rather telling proof of how much she had drunk. There was enough left, that someone else could have a glass too, should they want it.
no subject
"Hardly. I've been wearing them since I was thirteen. If a drunk man can undo them while intemperate with lust, I've no doubt you can presently."
For her part though, it was nostalgic, and she just stood there placidly as it all came up undone, humming quietly. Meanwhile pulling her hair over her shoulder to plait it. That was an achievement in and of itself.
no subject
no subject
Which after that was done, she turned back to Raven, smiling still calmly. "Thank-you, my dear." And with that she lent forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Like she had her own sister when they were still amiable. "I shall remember this kindness." Drunk as she was, she'd make an effort at least.
no subject
"Ju..just settle for bed Elizabeth. I'll take care of making sure you don't dream." In her drunken state, would she recognize the faint-barely-there feeling of feathers against her mind as she fell asleep, that indicated Raven's presence blocking her dreams? Certainly it wasn't as if Raven would go snooping around her mind, and she herself moved to settle on the floor, cross-legged in her meditation pose.
no subject
"You're a good one, aren't you?" She went to her bed then, curling up on her side. "Do I have to do anything?" Already her mind drifted away again. Things of court, of dancing and playing. Brought on no doubt by the calm and ease that Raven had given her.
no subject
Waiting fully for Elizabeth to drift off, then gently sliding in with her Empathy. Just enough to brush against the other's mind; not unlike when she blocked pain, but blocking the consciousness instead from the images that came with REM. Faintly feeling of feathers against the barest of mental-senses to the sleeper.
Once that was done, Raven allowed herself to enter almost a trance. A peaceful state where she was able to block the nightmares, to help Elizabeth's body continue purging the Alcohol, and where the Empath herself could rest a bit.