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For Dorian, and anyone else who wants to visit
Adrian sits down by the lake. His jacket is tossed on the ground a ways away, and his trouser legs are rolled up -- he's been wading in the water, and has now sat down with his little leatherbound book to write ( Read more... ) -
Open Post.
Adrian sits under a tree, attempting to stitch up a tear in his jacket. It isn't working very well, possibly because he is paying more attention to the book in front of him (a volume of Shelley's poetry) than his task. He bends his head to read a line more carefully and then straightens with a yelp as the needle point jabs into his finger ( Read more... ) -
Gifts! And Issues. Because we are never Without Issues.
It's a bit late, but a few people will find gifts from Adrian lying about where he's left them in secret.
( Gifts. ) -
Open Post
Adrian sits in the main room, writing in a little leatherbound book, quick scrawled lines in a large, loose hand. The letters are beginning to stray a bit, the lines not quite straight; his hands aren't so steady today, and for that matter, neither is he. He pauses, thinking, but then, his thoughts aren't terribly clear, either ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
( . . . Er. ) -
For Dorian Gray
*when they've reached the room (it's small, and plain, but he's lived in worse) Adrian will shut the door behind them, glad to be alone, but also rather wishing they weren't*
Typist: Continued from here. -
Open Post.
Adrian is in the library, flopped down in a chair with a book in hand. He's discovered his own author (though not his own book) and is reading a collection of Oscar Wilde's poetry. He is quite fascinated. -
Meme-age.
Typist: Bit of a meme idea here. Pick a song that suits your puppet. Upload it using YSI or some similar site. Link to the lyrics. If you can't upload, feel free to post just the lyrics. Choose the song yourself, or let your puppet-- or do one from each, if you're in great disagreement about it. :)
Rufus Wainwright-- Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
*there's an edgy, nervous look about him, though it's not (currently) the sort that comes from heavy smoke and dark rooms and dark moods-- just a worry that hasn't gone away*
. . . Jim? -
(Untitled)
*is male again, and in his own clothing-- it's amazing, after corsets, tight bodices, fitted gloves and heavy skirts, how comfortable layers of waistcoat and cravat and high-collared shirt can feel-- and he's walking in the garden carrying his coat over one arm, delighting in the freedom of movement now he's not wobbling along on high-heeled boots*