Briza

Word association Game!

Kvass

Word association Game!

Soy

Choose a Theme Song for the User Above

🎀 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓻 . 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰 . 𝓚𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 . 𝓜𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 . (a steampunk RP of petticoats, poison, and propriety)

L o r d F i n n e g a n O a k 𝓼

“Yes,” Finnegan whisked away from Alexander with a small bright laugh at the man's banal joke, feeling as if he had somehow or another accomplished more than he had originally thought to accomplish, and without even a blush, he slipped back into his demeanor — the one that he would normally resume when conversing and courting a woman such as Evelyn in such an environment. The notable features placed on his face were that he had just made good conversation with his friend, which he had, but he was much too interested in Evelyn to have stepped away for too long, which was almost a half-truth. As eloquent of a man that Alexander Damien Amidale could be, Finnegan could not in all his flamboyant likeness deny the innocent Evelyn in her simple, classic ballgown, and lavender was a very good color for her to wear.

Walking past the party that smelled to be headed by Lady Alyssana, the woman who was supposed to have been attentive towards his guest, Finnegan made a small acknowledgement of thought, but his disposition did not change. He barely noticed the two dolls outside of recognizing the young pink haired woman, only because his brother, Walter, was so fond of her work, and the dolls seemed to gravitate around her like an extra layer of clothing. He had small business to make with her in regards to his brother's new employment and recent move. He knew little about her aside from what he knew for his brother and her being pretty, quaint, and peculiar — as all women should be if they wanted to hold some sort of interest in a gentleman's mind. However, he had no entrance that could gaily make himself more reserved for Evelyn than he had at this current moment, “Dearest Mademoiselle Ashton,” his voice came and stood beside Evelyn and rested a head or so taller than her. The perfume in her hair was making him think perhaps she may start intoxicating the people around her, “Pardon my leave.”

He was looking down at her as he did when he was giving a false interest in her, deciding what he would most like to do with her if they were not in a crowding library. The young lady clasped her lips tightly into a smile, surprised to see him all of a sudden, as she felt relief for his return and the shyness of her awkwardness towards Lottie, who stole her attention from Finnegan as she was reminded from an oddly forgetful state that she had only seconds ago hesitantly made a compliment towards the tedium of her presence. Her pastel lips parted to make sense of something or explain what was happening, but Finnegan made his own effort to keep her voice to himself.

“Lady Charlotte Vernell. Beautiful as ever,” his head tucked as Lottie gleefully outstretched her arm with a stiff, bent wrist. The gentleman cupped it into his palm and pressed his own lips against the top of her hand. Lottie and Finnegan were hardly acquaintances, but he knew enough to see her as something worth complimenting and making small suggestions with, “This is my darling Mademoiselle Evelyn Ashton, with whom I see you have already made acquaintance,” his eyes glanced at Evelyn and then landed on Lottie, again, sizing up the coordination of her fashion. After this split second gesture, he proceeded to compliment Evelyn and entertain Lottie about how they met and what a lovely creature she was to him and everyone around her. He also made a small comment on the library's extraordinary extravagance before he and his guest took their leave to the ballroom for a dance. It was something to awaken the young lady as he found her presence becoming much too dull and retired for his boyish pageantry.

The couple exited the library by making their bows to the Captain. The long walk through the foyer was just as long as ever, extending the length of the night into something that was making Finnegan feel more as a babysitter than a suitor. He should not complain though, he reminded himself as slight echoes of footsteps padded on the flooring. She was merely a puppet — or a doll, if that was the language being sought after, for him to have by his side while he enjoyed to the fullest extent of the luxury and passions and poisons of which he just could never-ever seem to get enough, especially in a place that had lackluster care, “This evening has been so lovely, Finnegan,” Evelyn chimed at him. He only agreed for several reasons, and for other reasons, he disagreed. One of those reasons was because her voice sounded rested and weary in more ways than it should. She appeared quite too malleable at this point. However, the pinch of a smile was still worn on her cheeks, and to Finnegan, this was the most important part of a woman's appearance at an event like this.

“As you have been, as well,” he nestled the compliment as if to want her to believe that she was silly for thinking to take away her own accomplishment's of the night away from her, like a good, modest woman of her own kind was raised to do, “Without your presence, I believe only the books would be of interest to me at this point. Perhaps, I would have taken a seat next to the Captain Adrianna Kingsford,” he mused, imagining her enthusiasm of the party. “Even then, I may have asked her to dance, and then what? If we had a dance, she is not you. I fail to understand any enjoyment dancing with her when comparing a dance with you.”

The woman blushed behind her mask at his words and was able to speak a bashful, thank you to him, not seeing past his dishonest trickery of intellect and naturally rehearsed lines. Finnegan had no real qualms about what he was doing. His aim was to make a constant source of enjoyment of society for himself, and what harm could it be if he shared some sort of light of this enjoyment with others? None, he believed, to see their beautiful smiles brighten the world around them when he spoon fed them lies that they all wanted to hear. Besides, eventually another bloke would come and give them in all honesty the exact same opinion he read from a script in his own mind and actually mean it. For such a reason, he was but merely a small piece of a large sum in their lives and them nearly the same thing in his as well. It all smelled as fair game, and as Evelyn could not quit her lips from from imploring, ‘lovely’ in the most misconstrued manner.

“Yes,”
Finnegan believed:
“I am doing this out of love.”

🎀 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓻 . 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰 . 𝓚𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 . 𝓜𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 . (a steampunk RP of petticoats, poison, and propriety)

E v e l y n A 𝓼 h t o n

“Oh,” her lips opened like rose buds as she imagined the conversation in her memory, just moments after having it take place. Lady Alyssana was departing for a brief amount of time. Her right hand drew upwards. The perfumed glove touched the air close to her chin, motioning either a tiny farewell or an indication of a question. It did not matter what it meant, truly, for Lady Alyssana had already stepped aside after politely taking her exit. The young woman looked around willfully. She would have been more exasperated had she not been under such one of Lord Finnegan's stupors. The dangling, white beads on her mask shifted over her nymph, blushed cheeks. She did not see her lord anywhere, and it dawned on the poor creature that more guests had taken their places inside the library.

“She is not far, Lady Alyssana, just a bit away.”

Evelyn smiled politely towards Lady Alyssana and the young child's direction. It was thought that the conversation must be something so important she would not be able to hear it. Such a notable thing seemed like a treasure to her, even if it made her feel more childlike than usual. Finnegan seemed to nurture this part of her. Her appearance indicated that she was now admiring Lottie, the most peppiest thing she had seen all night, and without much thought, the mademoiselle smiled, again, with kissed lips, “Your outfit is truly, very lovely,” her voice spoke more melancholy than she was expecting it to sound and forced a shy smile of repentance in some conversation form of recovery. Her heart was skipping like a little rabbit's thumping foot, and yet for the life of her, she could not muster up any energy to be of any excitement beyond the calm exterior that was keeping her quite subdued. She wished for Lord Finnegan to come take up her arm, once again.

🎀 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓻 . 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰 . 𝓚𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 . 𝓜𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 . (a steampunk RP of petticoats, poison, and propriety)

L o r d W a l t e r O a k 𝓼

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock...

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock...

Tick-tock. Tick-tock...

Tinkering noises of mechanical gizmos clicked on a wooden bookshelf, elaborately posted inside the frame of Lord Walter Oak's bed, where he was lying motionless and half-asleep. These tickety ornaments consisted of a sundry mixture of playful, whimsical, and petty talent: A small rust-red tin dog, clinked it's tail back-and-forth as it's metal paws marched in a small circular path along the wooden plate. It's snoot was black and angled upwards. An ivory and metal rabbit with gear-propelled ears and reddish eyes rested solemnly atop its curled hind legs. A strange white and gold and brass metallic bird pecked and ticked as its peak opened for small melancholy chimes. A lacquer, blonde haired porcelain dolly sat with benign posture in a dazzling Victorian outfit. A jeweled and nobbled owl with finely tuned metal wings that varied in metal and color clicked its sapphire eyes and ruffled its neck with automatic timing. And, other various trinkets of whimsical machinery bobbed their bits and pieces to their own arbitrary, idiosyncratic rhythms, as well. These were the first and last things the lord heard every morning and evening.

A dark and red steam train with gold labeling puffed its wheels around a track, which acted as a circumference on a long-legged table that mapped Hourglass City. Its engine turned in a chiming manner as the novelty locomotion made its way through the various parts of the city. Each district was sculpted in a unique flair. There was an obviously hint of baroque fantasy and over-abundant clockwork infused from a more romantic standpoint. Above New Toppingham, hung balloons and airships from the bedroom ceiling. Each were detachable and able to propel themselves in a pattern along the room's interior. However, it seemed that they were at rest, as were the tin citizens that were standing aloof amongst the architectural model. They were small men and women, each with a unique outfit, quite styled with a specific characteristic and genre in mind. There lack of disciplined location indicated someone had been playing with them not too long ago.

Upon the wall, a swinging pendulum knocked against copper and brass, turning gears and winds and hands in-and-over a faded, dark blue astronomical clock. The clock was large in size and was hung next to the tall table. It acted as a Clock Tower for the embellished toy replica of Hourglass City and worked as Walter's favorite form of reading the time. He could sit in a chair adjacent the wall that the clock was positioned and even read a book from the library, stretched across the dark wood wall. Educational and fictional books were placed in alphabetical order along the shelves. Some of the books seemed too young for the man lying in bed. Opposite the library, there was a large richly framed window with an extended sill, dressed in cushion and decorated spreads as an alternate place to read or nap. Heavy antique-gold curtains draped openly over the window. The light from the sun was peaking through the glass and sheer cloth, and thus, was interrupting the master's sleep.

“I don't want to wake up, though.”

The thought stretched through his body as he groaned silently to himself, begging his mind to calm and relax as to keep himself asleep just a little while longer. He had no favor in awakening at this moment, but oh, his toys wanted his attention, now. They could be so impatient with him, and sometimes he wondered why he had them if all they were going to do was nag him when he was not feeling so well. He nudged his palm into his quiet face, rubbing his left eye as his head turned into the fuzzy, plush feeling of his pillow. And, the clicking continued to click as the clacking of the train and its tracks continued to stir and awaken the room, and he turned his whole body over, as well.

On this motion, he realized, he was also a tad bit uncomfortable from a draft that was humming through the room, for he had accidentally kicked all of his blankets and sheets to one side of the large bed during the course of the night. It appeared, now in the spring time, he was having a difficult time keeping himself warm, even in his feverish state. And, an arm stretched out his hand and grabbed at a thin, loose sheet. He pulled it over himself and attempted to fall back to sleep. For a while it worked, and he was nestled and curled under the white sheet.

Walter nursed his thoughts the best he could, and for several moments, the silence of the morning was gentle and soothing, once again. His breaths were still able to depress steadily from having just awoken from a dream that was very gluttonous in laziness, and he was still feeling its sweet temptations trying to cradle him back into a peaceful slumber. However, despite all, he could not manage to put himself to sleep, again. For no matter how pleasant the quietness was, the clicking in his room continued to click; and the ticking in his room continued to tick; and right when he was beginning to feel at ease with all the commotion that use used to keep himself from feeling lonely, the cuckoo clock above the frame of his bed decided to wake him up for good.

The little baubles began to stir under the clock's house and a cheery song or some soft began to hum softly as the miniature, in their resin and wood decored top hats and petticoats with lace corsages and parasols began to spin in playful, jesting circular motions:
“Koo-koo! Koo-koo! — !”

“Ahh...” pale lips spread open and his voice was whispered in a vain distraught yawn as he stretched out his fey body. The satin of his nightgown slid against his skin and bedding, and it felt nice, as always. With his fists clenched, now, he pushed his arms above his head, and the bed frame was pushed against by now open palms and fingertips. Walter closed his eyes shut and drew in the last sound that he had made. “I still do not want to wake up,” he sighed as he sat himself upwards, leaning his upper body against folded, tucked arms. The navy blue clock reading back at him said the day had just struck noon. His face dropped as he tried to make sense of how long he had slept. God forbid he not meet his brother for breakfast, “Oh golly,” he said breathlessly, turning to face the window and peer through the sheer, white fabric that fell over the glass, “How... however did I...?” Walter sat his body more upwards, and once again, pressed his hand to his face, feeling the flushed curvature of his cheek bone against the soft of his hand. His hand was cold, and his flushed cheek appreciated this. The young man inhaled several times, and eventually, after several small moments, his shoulders dropped in relaxation. A smile woke up his face as his head shook, and the brown fluff of his hair shagged with the movement. He was silly for thinking his brother would be upset with him. Nonetheless, he wished he could have joined him... His attention turned towards his machinery, then.

“And here, I was making mean thoughts about all my friends...”

A mechanical dragonfly fluttered its wings after noticing the commotion in the master's bed. The flutter caught Walter's attention and turned it towards his nightstand, “Oh...” Walter let out a sigh upon seeing it and thought to thank his friends and apologize for being miserable. He moved and swung his legs to the side of his bed to where his feet could now touch the floor, and he wiggled them a little but stopped short of getting too childish when he saw that a silver tray had been placed on his nightstand. An upside down cup was placed next to a teapot, and utensils were wrapped in a napkin, folded with the design embroidering his surname correctly. The fork and knife peeked out of the top opening. A silver covering was fitted over what appeared to be an ornate plate. He imagined his breakfast was underneath the beautiful piece. Next to the plate was a small piece of parchment paper, propped by its mountain fold. It read in Finnegan's handwriting:

“𝒢𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒲𝒶𝓁𝓉𝑒𝓇.”

There was nothing more than the simple greeting written. His fingers felt the paper and fiddled with the edges. He found himself investing more time into the mundane intricacies of the note than he ought to have. This was a reoccurring dilemma with him, which he knew he had, but in this instance, he was more concerned with the knowledge that the note had been done offhandedly and not even on one of his brother's personalized note papers. That was alright. He had woken up late, and there was some other reason beckoning him. Walter thought about this reason that tugged at small parts of his own waning guiltiness for having dreamt too long in his bed, again, “Oh dear... My poorest dear brother,” he whispered inaudibly to himself upon remembering, “his perfumery,” the man's hand held up the note, and his eyes retraced the curves that indented letters into words upon the parchment, “I am a horrid apprentice, already, and an even more wretched brother,” It was obvious his brother had forgiven him. He would not have made him breakfast, otherwise. However, the quaintness was something to be remembered.

Walter sat the note next to him in his bed. It rested on the pillow that lie next to his. His torso twisted as he looked down at his gray nightwear and then to the tea cup. Its handle had a gold finish that curved nicely, and if he had wanted to go ahead and skip breakfast to find his brother to beg an apology he knew would be granted, anyways, he was trapped with curiosity through lifting the cup to examine the handle before finally realizing he ought to put tea in it. And, after he put tea in the cup, he lifted himself and shuffled hazily towards the model train. Despite his overall feelings, his posture was astute and noble as he admired the chugging locomotive. What a good train. He began to think such thoughts like these. They became cloudy with comparison, as well. It's engine was probably hotter than the water soaking the tea in his cup, he continued to think to himself. He thought other things about how his breakfast was probably cold, and he should go bother a house servant for another meal. He also thought about how Finnegan may have had nothing to do with his breakfast except for the touch of his handwriting.

And then, he thought:
“It is still a nice touch.”

Letting out a sigh, his eyes studied the model, closely examining the street signs by remembering their names before reading them, making sure the layout had not been tampered when moved into his brother's place. He had been living here for almost a week, now, but Finnegan and he had hardly seen each other. The move had been quick, and they both decided letting him get used to the place before moving schedules around their personal clocks was the best option. Tonight, his brother had a ball of some sort to attend with his new girlfriend, Evelyn, and he was supposed to be shown around the Perfumery and the laboratory. He had yet to see the latter, and he was very eager to memorize the layout. However, he was feeling more bashful than usual having awoken so late and mustering up the courage to show up with his tail tucked between his legs was seeming harder and harder to bring himself to do.

He also still needed to apologize to his gizmos and gadgets for the rude awakening thoughts. The ceramic mug was brought to his lips, and cold tea seeped through his lips. It felt nice even if cold, he admitted to himself. That was Walter, though. He had barely a mean bone in his body. His head turned to look at the shelf and the only words that came out were, “I was invited to the ball, as well,” his eyes dropped into the tinted water that rested in his cup, “I am sure ye understand as to why I have not the faintest ability to attend,” he felt suddenly ridiculous addressing them like so, as if there were several pairs of eyes watching him and were laughing as they saw him make such a fool out of his loneliness, but he continued anyways, “Thank you, though, for all that,” he looked at several of the baubles that made the move with him. Finnegan had somehow convinced him that bringing his entire luxury would be a complete waste, and there was a pain in his heart to leave behind several of his bits and pieces, “In the future, I shall demand myself to be more understanding,” he lowered himself, thinking how excited he was to begin things in a more normal manner. However, he was certain there really was no manner of normalcy for him to truly endure. His ticks and tocks new this all too well.

“Good morning...”

Finishing his strange apology and the last bit of tea in the little cup, Walter made small effort in his movement to put the cup back on the tray, and he picked up the tray and brought it from his room, with no qualms of walking through the foyer in his attire, to which drew the immediate attention of a house servant. The attention was so readily available, Walter believed the servant had been sent to mind his whereabouts all day today, “Lord Finnegan,” the servant began, addressing him with obedience, “There is a guest in the East Quarter, Mademoiselle Evelyn. She would be very scandalized to see you in your night trousers. Please,” his hands motioned for the tray with a nod tilting to the bedroom door, “If you need help changing, I shall make request. for your assistance. Lord Finnegan has asked for no disturbances in the slightest.”

“Oh, of course,” Walter made a small, sheepish smile, showing brightness towards the shorter, more elder framed man. His own chin lifted as he drew in a small breath, “Mademoiselle Evelyn. I have heard she is quite nice,” he was a little taken that his brother was not making work in the Perfumery but instead, he was taking a lavish break with a lady. However, the man took no qualms against his brother, even if he ought to have. There just was not a mean bone in the man's body. There were several adventurous ones, though, and he thought to try and meet them for a quick greeting before venturing through the large expenditure of the manor. He had yet to do so in the time frame that he had been given, as he had been so busy making sure all of his trinkets were put into their proper placing.

“Yes, Madamoiselle Evelyn is quite the pleasure for Lord Finnegan,” the balded servant assured him, looking up and square at the youthful, broad shouldered master. And while they stood making small talk, which consisted of last night's sleep and his well-being, Walter requested another meal be made fresh for him. He insisted that he would enjoy it in the dining room or the somewhere else than his bedroom, at least. But, when Finnegan went to his bedroom, he found himself ever more comfortable in his bed, again, and upon resting his cheek against the pillow, his light eyes glanced at the note and the calligraphy of his brother's handwriting and closed his eyes once more. The ticking continued to tick, and the clicking continued to click. Eventually, Walter dose back into a trance of dreams and merriment. He would not awaken until the evening and be made by his own folly that he may have merely dreamt of this morning's happen chance, since it was for such a small amount of time, and the letter would become tangled in his own mess of sheets and covers and tossings and turnings. The faint smell of food would also be dusted away by the small spring air circulating softly throughout the entire house.