Aaaaaaaand Sunday Post
Mar. 25th, 2007 01:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanarillHeres Tanarill is still freaking out. This is what she does in those long hours of the night when her simulacra doesn't actually need to sleep and no one else is awake.
Title: Can You Imagine Clockwork Throwing a Ball
Fandom: ASRP and I do this for the love of the RP. Hartman, you get no love.
Rating: G
Warnings: Far too much cleaning
She’d moved on to stripping paint off the walls, and the entire room smelled of turpentine.
“I don’t know why he’d cover this up,” she said. “It’s beautiful cedar paneling. So what does he do? Wallpaper it. And then hide that with six successive layers of paint. Each uglier than the last.”
Which was nothing compared to her indignation when, after clearing it of paint and wallpaper in preparation for taking the panels down to sand and wax them, she discovered that an entire wall was meant to be on the outside of the building. Tracks, previously hidden by the garish paint, had emerged. Whole sections of wall were made to slide into other sections of wall, although the tracks were rusty and the noise when she forced it brought to mind fingernails and blackboards. But eventually bank after bank of windows, edged in stained-glass faience, were revealed. The view was of the inside of wall.
“Like it would have killed him to keep these in repair!”
“He’s already dead.”
“Exactly!”
Once she’d finished the wall panels, it took a week, gallons of Windex, and cases of paper towel for her to get the windows clean. At one point, the whole ballroom was abruptly shifted to an outside wall, which looked onto a very tangled, very overgrown garden. She fell off of her scaffold, suffered what would have been a fatal injury had her brain actually been inside her head, and stomped around angrier than usual for the rest of the day.
The crown molding was, quote, “The most tasteless piece of expense it has ever been my misfortune to encounter.” She ripped it down and let him set it on fire. Then she replaced it with something simple, sensible, and tasteful.
Under layers of grime, however, the ceiling proved to be up to her standards. At the very least, the subject matter was captivating. She did something interesting to gravity, then got down on her hands and knees to scrub it clean.
The immense candelabra, she disassembled, polished, and then painted with clear coatings to prevent them from oxidizing again. He hadn’t known that silver could look so much like butter. The heat produced when there were candles in all of the cups could have powered a generator.
Then she went back and dusted and washed the entire room, top to bottom. It had taken three months, start to end. Standing in the echoing space, warm and bright with polished wood and practically oozing relaxation, he could scarcely believe it was the same room.
“What next?” he asked.
She pointed out the windows, towards the garden. “Wood is all very well and good but–That’s meant to bloom.”
Title: Can You Imagine Clockwork Throwing a Ball
Fandom: ASRP and I do this for the love of the RP. Hartman, you get no love.
Rating: G
Warnings: Far too much cleaning
She’d moved on to stripping paint off the walls, and the entire room smelled of turpentine.
“I don’t know why he’d cover this up,” she said. “It’s beautiful cedar paneling. So what does he do? Wallpaper it. And then hide that with six successive layers of paint. Each uglier than the last.”
Which was nothing compared to her indignation when, after clearing it of paint and wallpaper in preparation for taking the panels down to sand and wax them, she discovered that an entire wall was meant to be on the outside of the building. Tracks, previously hidden by the garish paint, had emerged. Whole sections of wall were made to slide into other sections of wall, although the tracks were rusty and the noise when she forced it brought to mind fingernails and blackboards. But eventually bank after bank of windows, edged in stained-glass faience, were revealed. The view was of the inside of wall.
“Like it would have killed him to keep these in repair!”
“He’s already dead.”
“Exactly!”
Once she’d finished the wall panels, it took a week, gallons of Windex, and cases of paper towel for her to get the windows clean. At one point, the whole ballroom was abruptly shifted to an outside wall, which looked onto a very tangled, very overgrown garden. She fell off of her scaffold, suffered what would have been a fatal injury had her brain actually been inside her head, and stomped around angrier than usual for the rest of the day.
The crown molding was, quote, “The most tasteless piece of expense it has ever been my misfortune to encounter.” She ripped it down and let him set it on fire. Then she replaced it with something simple, sensible, and tasteful.
Under layers of grime, however, the ceiling proved to be up to her standards. At the very least, the subject matter was captivating. She did something interesting to gravity, then got down on her hands and knees to scrub it clean.
The immense candelabra, she disassembled, polished, and then painted with clear coatings to prevent them from oxidizing again. He hadn’t known that silver could look so much like butter. The heat produced when there were candles in all of the cups could have powered a generator.
Then she went back and dusted and washed the entire room, top to bottom. It had taken three months, start to end. Standing in the echoing space, warm and bright with polished wood and practically oozing relaxation, he could scarcely believe it was the same room.
“What next?” he asked.
She pointed out the windows, towards the garden. “Wood is all very well and good but–That’s meant to bloom.”
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-25 06:00 am (UTC)Heh, I like this lots. Yay bonding!