Pumpkin Hollow Inbox

[witheredpeonies]

Phone - Mail - In Person - Other

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Late January | Wren Damn My Eyes

[somebodychildofanyone]

The evening after an afternoon, River knocks on Annabel's door with the sun setting, not that anyone can see it through the thick snowfall that blocks out the falling stars and promises to choke out the town yet further. Rest in fucking pieces to the poor bastards who have to shovel the roads...

River's still hot and bothered, red in the face and at the ears, though not just with...well, the previously mentioned emotions. There's a shame in her chest that has her in an icy grip, everything feels So Much lately and Mairi's theory isn't enough to explain some things.

The necromancer badly wants to scream.

[witheredpeonies]

Annabel answers the door wearing a pincushion bracelet, tape measure around her neck, hair frizzing a little. Without the visible sign of sunset, someone's just kept working, it seems.

But seeing the state River's in, it's clear nothing more will be accomplished tonight. "What happened? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

[somebodychildofanyone]

"'m not hurt, just, give me a minute, I need to...lemme..." River kinda slips inside, almost mechanically taking off her boots and her cloak so as not to track snow inside.

She beelines directly for the nearest flat, cushioned surface; a couch is ideal, but she's not above carpet.

Flops down.

And screams into it.

[witheredpeonies]

"River!" There's something terrifying about this whole ordeal. Annabel rushes over, kneeling beside the fainting couch her necromancer's just screamed into, hand hovering like she's not sure she's allowed to touch.

[somebodychildofanyone]

Ah fuck. Is Annabel not familiar with being a dramatic bitch? Is she just not affected by whatever strange magic has been -

- the screaming stops and River turns her head, taking Annabel's hand in her own with a gentle touch. "It's fine, love, it's -"

"- okay no it's not fine but it's -"

"Feelings."

Where to even start. River's hand is warm and she is seized by the need to give Annabel more warmth, as some irrational apology; she heeds it, adding her other to the hold, ears flat against her head and looking miserable and red-faced and, and -

"...Remember when I said I dunno what kinda person I am, with dating and marriage and...all that? 'm starting to think 'm just. Fucking. Bad at it. In general. I gotta explain something and I don't know where to start because I'm not, trying, I'm not trying to make excuses but there's something else going on too and every fucking emotion has been too much all month and -"

[witheredpeonies]

"Start from the beginning, love. It's the most sensible place to start." Annabel's voice is gentle, coaxing. She's not going to insist that River mop herself up and be okay, but she would like a logical order to follow.

[somebodychildofanyone]

"Yeah, okay, it's just...been piecing some things together..."

River really should sit up. She's not going to, but she should. Instead she turns her head to wipe her eyes against her shoulder. "I should have noticed before but I've been off all month, ever since the forge started ordering in. The apprentices too, everything has been...everything. The three of us broke down crying when we accidentally chucked a bullet into the fire, what kinda shit is that..."

A shaky breath.

"...I let a new lass, Mairi, calls herself a druid...cute as a button, generates water somehow. She wanted to buy me a drink, and I was like yeah, but you're gonna need to talk to my partners about a second drink, and like, she was okay with that? And being okay felt. Good. Really good."

Second week of February -- Weep at the thought of sunshine

[tisnotthehouse]

[The following note, written in a fine if somewhat cramped calligraphy, is delivered to Annabel Lee's home by post --]

Miss Annabel Lee,

By your leave I would request the opportunity to call upon you, at a time and place of your choosing. There are matters of a personal nature relevant to us both, concerning our mutual acquaintance River la Croix, which I would fain discuss with you as quickly as convenience allows. If this is agreeable to you, please respond to this note in kind.

In sincerity and hope,
Tarantulas
The Silk Road

[witheredpeonies]

What the fuck kind of name is Tarantulas? It makes for some awkwardness in her reply.

Friend Tarantulas,

Is it to be my understanding that multiple spiders desire to make my acquaintance and speak about relationship matters? If so, visit my shop during working hours. I promise not to chase you all out with a broom.

Annabel Lee Whitlock
Whitlock Needleworks

[tisnotthehouse]

Every bloodbag in this town thinks they're a goddamned comedian, he swears to fuck. Tarantulas does not dignify her idle speculations with a reply, choosing instead to simply show up at Annabel Lee's shop at the designated time.

In his furry winter coat with its high collar, the only signs that he is something other than human is the thin layer of purple fur covering his face, and the six gem-like orbs set into his forehead above his two yellow eyes.

"Miss Annabel Lee?" he inquiries, in a low, hoarse voice. "Or would you prefer I addressed you as Miss Whitlock? I'm afraid I was operating under some confusion as to your family name, when I sent my note -- my name, for the record, is Tarantulas." There is a small but particular emphasis on the final syllable, which is not the plural form of 'tarantula.'

[witheredpeonies]

“Come in, make yourself comfortable. Would you care for some tea?”

Even in the state of famine they’re in, she can furnish a decent pot of tea for a guest.

[tisnotthehouse]

"I would, thank you." Tarantulas neatly hangs up his coat and checks his boots for any lingering snow before stepping off the mat -- he knocked the snow off before he came inside, but one can't be too careful when one is trying to impress one's...lover's lover? Ex-wife's lover? The ambiguity of his status in River's eyes sets his teeth on edge, but he's taking pains not to show it.

"I don't suppose River has already mentioned me to you?" It would make this significantly easier if he had, at least in the sense of providing him a cue to act upon.

[witheredpeonies]

“Not directly. Not by name. But I think I have sufficient context to be aware of who you are.” Annabel is holding herself so very straight and tight, her expression controlled. She puts the kettle on, and then turns the full force of her attention back onto Tarantulas. “Within a dream, you were the father of her child, were you not?”

Late February | U-Haul

[somebodychildofanyone]

Behold, during reasonable business hours the phone is ringing. RING-A-LING, Miss Whitlock.

[witheredpeonies]

"Whitlock Needleworks. Alterations or fittings for Merrymeet clothing are still possible, but outfits can no longer be made from scratch in this time frame. How may I help you?"

Reasonable business hours indeed.

[somebodychildofanyone]

"Hey love." River's voice is scratchy, a bit hoarse. "You sound swamped. Business is booming?"

[witheredpeonies]

"...and you sound like either you're sick or you've been crying. Which is it, and how can I help?"

Look, even in the middle of her busy season, she'll find time for River. There's no question there, no hesitation.

[somebodychildofanyone]

"Crying," River admits, with the sort of cheer that is very specifically taking the place of sorrow. "...I gotta get out of the house for awhile. Just. Not be by myself, y'know? So I was wondering if you might not mind a roommate for a bit. I've left instructions for my students, they'll be fine, nobody's hurt."

Beat.

"Nobody's physically hurt."

[witheredpeonies]

"Are you the sort of hurt that would be better served by cuddling and wallowing, or the sort of hurt where you want to be distracted?" She can do either, she can, but it's still a question worth asking.

The intersection of Gender Stuff and Cultural Relativism Awaits

[xiaoxiuya]

One bright and sunny morning early in the month, Shen Qingqiu enters through the front door of Annabel Lee's shop with a smile on his face and a large sketchbook under one arm. "Miss Whitlock? I wonder if I could have a few minutes of your time?"

Not wanting to be rude, he adds, "I'm happy to make an appointment and come back later, if it would be more convenient for you."

[witheredpeonies]

"Nonsense, do come in. Though you have me at a disadvantage, knowing my name when I don't know yours."

Annabel descends into the front room of the shop from a set of stairs, styled like a Proper Lady; her pale blue dress even has a hoop skirt.

(It's hot, having your clothing not touch you, and being able to sway to create a personal breeze are advantages.)

[xiaoxiuya]

Oh wow, she's so elegant! A proper lady to be sure -- Shen Qingqiu is now absolutely certain this is the person he needs to speak to.

"I appreciate it." Shifting his notebook under one arm, he cups one hand over the other and bows to her deeply. "This humble one is known by the family name Shen, courtesy name Qingqiu. I'd hoped to treat with you for the commission of a new suit of clothes, in a style to which I am more accustomed." Maybe, hopefully more than a single suit. But one thing at a time, correct?

[witheredpeonies]

Annabel offers a formal curtsy in response to the deep bow, lowering her head politely.

"I don't think the style you're accustomed to is one I've worked in before, but if you can explain how the garments are constructed, I'm willing to learn more."

[xiaoxiuya]

"I actually prepared some sketches, to help you get an idea of what I'm looking for," Shen Qingqiu explains. He holds out the sketchbook for Annabel Lee's inspection; the first three or four pages contain delicate watercolor sketches of himself dressed in green and white robes. The final painting is a more detailed sketch of what he hopes his enforcer uniform to look like: an outer robe in the heavy blue fabric of the enforcer coats, but with a longer waist and sleeves and a looser fit, over lighter robes of tan. He also penciled in a few notes about potential locations for extra pockets in the lining and sleeves.

"I'm also happy to answer any questions you might have," he says modestly, "Although since I have no knowledge of sewing myself, you might need to explain a few things to me along the way."

[witheredpeonies]

Annabel examines the sketches, asking some questions about how things are fastened and underlayers. It's well outside her wheelhouse.

That doesn't mean she's not going to try.

"I'm not sure we have anything as fine as the material you're used to. I imagine silk was popular, where you're from?"