To get the intelectual juices flowing I offer this practice-
Imagine that you are a member of one of Paridons three social classes. You just woke up in bed and you are ready to start your day as the first rays of the sun enter your sleeping quaters.
Now post what the rest of your day will be like. What will you eat? Where do you work? Do the Bloody Jack killings wieght heavy on your mind? Do you reach for the Newsbill? Can you even read it?
Post your Paridon day from dawn to dusk and help get the Paridonite feel down.
A day in the life of a Paridonite
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Jasper
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 562
- Joined: Thu Dec 18, 2003 7:10 pm
- Location: A cultural wasteland known as WV.
A day in the life of a Paridonite
"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."
Anais Nin
Anais Nin
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Jasper
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 562
- Joined: Thu Dec 18, 2003 7:10 pm
- Location: A cultural wasteland known as WV.
Ill start-
The sixth of ten children I awake to the sounds of my younger siblings wanting to be fed and changed. The sunlight barely filters into the two-room apartment we all share.. I dress quickly in my work clothes and attempt to wake my father from his drunken stupor but to no avail. In the kitchen my mother tries her best to keep my youngest brother happy with a bottle of watered down milk but it does little to fill its undernourished belly. The rest of my siblings squabble over the remains of a week old stew of rats and mushrooms for their morning meal as I grab the last hunk of stale bread on my way out the door.
By the time I reach the street my clothes are already damp with the morning fog and the days looks ripe for a downpour. Arriving at the printers I pay my three silver for a stack of rag sheets and I being my spiel.
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Terror of the night strikes again! ‘Is no place safe?’ cries the masses! Extra! Extra! Council member found in arms of Blackchapel floozy! Find out who! Three bits gets you all the juicy details!”
The crowds come and go and before long I’m down to only a few soggy rags. I’ve made enough to buy a few essentials, maybe even a horse steak if I’m lucky. But my vices come first.
A short walk down a maze of back alleys I find myself in a dimly lit room filled with the familiar sickly sweet smoke. For a handful of copper I’m once again wrapped in the sweet embrace of the poppies white bliss. I dose off as the sun sets outside.
When I wake the room is nearly empty but for a few dozing addicts. The rain that threatened the day has come and obscured all but the faint glow of the gaslights. My body shakes as it comes down from the blissful feelings and I stumble out into the nights.
I make it only a few blocks before I see him. Or it, I do not trust my eyes. Every time I see it, it looks different. I write it off to the after effects and make my way towards home.
The last thing I remember is the feeling of gnarled hands wrapped around my neck and the odd feeling of dying…
The sun wakes me as it reveals my location mere feet from my home. I slap some rain water on my face, check to see if my coins are still on my person and put off last nights memories to a bad batch…
The sixth of ten children I awake to the sounds of my younger siblings wanting to be fed and changed. The sunlight barely filters into the two-room apartment we all share.. I dress quickly in my work clothes and attempt to wake my father from his drunken stupor but to no avail. In the kitchen my mother tries her best to keep my youngest brother happy with a bottle of watered down milk but it does little to fill its undernourished belly. The rest of my siblings squabble over the remains of a week old stew of rats and mushrooms for their morning meal as I grab the last hunk of stale bread on my way out the door.
By the time I reach the street my clothes are already damp with the morning fog and the days looks ripe for a downpour. Arriving at the printers I pay my three silver for a stack of rag sheets and I being my spiel.
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Terror of the night strikes again! ‘Is no place safe?’ cries the masses! Extra! Extra! Council member found in arms of Blackchapel floozy! Find out who! Three bits gets you all the juicy details!”
The crowds come and go and before long I’m down to only a few soggy rags. I’ve made enough to buy a few essentials, maybe even a horse steak if I’m lucky. But my vices come first.
A short walk down a maze of back alleys I find myself in a dimly lit room filled with the familiar sickly sweet smoke. For a handful of copper I’m once again wrapped in the sweet embrace of the poppies white bliss. I dose off as the sun sets outside.
When I wake the room is nearly empty but for a few dozing addicts. The rain that threatened the day has come and obscured all but the faint glow of the gaslights. My body shakes as it comes down from the blissful feelings and I stumble out into the nights.
I make it only a few blocks before I see him. Or it, I do not trust my eyes. Every time I see it, it looks different. I write it off to the after effects and make my way towards home.
The last thing I remember is the feeling of gnarled hands wrapped around my neck and the odd feeling of dying…
The sun wakes me as it reveals my location mere feet from my home. I slap some rain water on my face, check to see if my coins are still on my person and put off last nights memories to a bad batch…
"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."
Anais Nin
Anais Nin
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Tobias Blackburn
- Water Bearer
- Posts: 602
- Joined: Thu Nov 18, 2004 2:26 pm
- Location: TO, ONT, CA
{EDIT:} Just as a note, I decided to toss a bit of "After Shadows". The basic idea remains the same though{/edit}
Jonathan Harris gets up at the crack of dawn ever morning to tend prepare for the days work. As a distant bell tolls the hour he crosses the one room apartment and wakes up his son, taking care not to disturb his wife and daughters. They get dressed and heads down to the warehouses to pick up his daily portion of produce. Taking the packed breakfast and lunch his wife packed the day before. A few years ago his son would have come with him so that his wife and daughter would let him back in after dark. Now the boy comes to make sure he learns the trade.
The greens he buys are small and withered but he doesn't have a choice. Better vegetables are too far outside his budget and most of them are being held for the Nobs tables. Not that his customers will notice. Good vegetables are expensive and it's better to eat the cheap stuff than risk scurvy. He is thankful that his the prices have been dropping as foriegn food becomes more readily available. His family have been eating better than they have in quite some time.
After purchasing his wares for the day he and his son head to the marketplace. They set up their cart in the usual spot and start hawking their wares. He learned this trade by his father's side years before and his calls ring out clearly above the din long after his son has gone hoarse.
It is a good day to sell vegetables and he draws more customers for his last few heads by undercutting his competition. "After all," He tells his son, "It's better to make your money back than try to sell 'em when they've aged even more. And don't sell below cost. You'll never make a livin' like that."
By the time the sun is beginning to set they only have two heads of lettice left. They were pretty ratty looking, but it was cheaper to bring them home and let the wife worry about them than throw them away.
After parking the cart for the night he and his son go to the pub to play a game of darts. He orders a beer for himself and a small one for the boy and they sit with some of his friends. Harry, a carriage drive, is reading the Newsbill out loud and is drawing quite a crowd.
" 'Nother word about Bloody Jack." He says to the general groan of the crowds. "They're saying that he was some kinda thing someone built. Like a clock!"
The crowd grumbles at this, and a few men start yelling about the jobs they lost in local factories because of the machines.
"Ain't right that they should go around killin' people!" One of them says, getting on a table. "Old Maurice lost his hand workin' in the factories. Now we find out that they's also killin' people!"
"An' all this time we thought it was Doppelgangers!" Answered another "Probably just some nob trick to keep people quiet as they was demolishin' our homes to grow their bleedin' flowers!"
Jonathan decided that it was time to leave before they started questioning where he got his produce. Picking up his sleeping boy he headed home to his wife, a warm meal, and a comfortable bed.
Jonathan Harris gets up at the crack of dawn ever morning to tend prepare for the days work. As a distant bell tolls the hour he crosses the one room apartment and wakes up his son, taking care not to disturb his wife and daughters. They get dressed and heads down to the warehouses to pick up his daily portion of produce. Taking the packed breakfast and lunch his wife packed the day before. A few years ago his son would have come with him so that his wife and daughter would let him back in after dark. Now the boy comes to make sure he learns the trade.
The greens he buys are small and withered but he doesn't have a choice. Better vegetables are too far outside his budget and most of them are being held for the Nobs tables. Not that his customers will notice. Good vegetables are expensive and it's better to eat the cheap stuff than risk scurvy. He is thankful that his the prices have been dropping as foriegn food becomes more readily available. His family have been eating better than they have in quite some time.
After purchasing his wares for the day he and his son head to the marketplace. They set up their cart in the usual spot and start hawking their wares. He learned this trade by his father's side years before and his calls ring out clearly above the din long after his son has gone hoarse.
It is a good day to sell vegetables and he draws more customers for his last few heads by undercutting his competition. "After all," He tells his son, "It's better to make your money back than try to sell 'em when they've aged even more. And don't sell below cost. You'll never make a livin' like that."
By the time the sun is beginning to set they only have two heads of lettice left. They were pretty ratty looking, but it was cheaper to bring them home and let the wife worry about them than throw them away.
After parking the cart for the night he and his son go to the pub to play a game of darts. He orders a beer for himself and a small one for the boy and they sit with some of his friends. Harry, a carriage drive, is reading the Newsbill out loud and is drawing quite a crowd.
" 'Nother word about Bloody Jack." He says to the general groan of the crowds. "They're saying that he was some kinda thing someone built. Like a clock!"
The crowd grumbles at this, and a few men start yelling about the jobs they lost in local factories because of the machines.
"Ain't right that they should go around killin' people!" One of them says, getting on a table. "Old Maurice lost his hand workin' in the factories. Now we find out that they's also killin' people!"
"An' all this time we thought it was Doppelgangers!" Answered another "Probably just some nob trick to keep people quiet as they was demolishin' our homes to grow their bleedin' flowers!"
Jonathan decided that it was time to leave before they started questioning where he got his produce. Picking up his sleeping boy he headed home to his wife, a warm meal, and a comfortable bed.
The Remnants have one saying to represent loss, disappearance, exile, and death. It is [i]Shiao Marests[/i], "Taken by The Shadows".
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Undead Cabbage
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 623
- Joined: Wed Oct 19, 2005 7:39 pm
- Location: In one of Neil Gaiman's books, or at least I wish I was.
- Contact:
Great Idea Jasper! I just finished watching 'From Hell' to!
Alright, now for something a little more high class:
Regretably, I manage to pull myself from the utter horse blanket Arthur insisted was Shri Raji's finest material. Just what type of country was Shri Raji to condone its population to this? Well either way, I get myself out of bed alright.
Ah yes, Arthur made breakfast correctly this time. And the coffee...six minutes late as usual. Admissable, I suppose. But what wasn't admissable was the garbage sitting upon my breakfast table.
"You don't honestly expect me to read this rubbish, do you? The Newsbill? Have you any idea of exactly who writes the Newsbill?"
From across the table my brother was already sliding his glasses down his nose. He pointed to the main heading.
"You might learn something."
"Like what, that there's been another killing. Well, I can't say I'm surprised".
"Look at the location"
'Blood Jack Strikes again...Brutal, inhumane...investigators have no answers...Killings located closer to King's Quarters than ever before!
"It's still in Blackchapel, silly"
"Yes, but this time..."
"Oh don't bug me about this time! It's always this time! That's all the Newsbill ever does, get people excited over nothing. Next thing you know, the unfortunates will want more food."
My brother has never been an interesting person. My Suit, shirt, and hat all awaited me back in my room. One tuesdays I was condemned to the harsh study of what the professor dubbed 'Ancient Languages'. Surely something that old and tactless would have died by now. But, unfortunately apparently the path to becoming a true gentlemen required an education. Why that education included a throwback tongue known as Draconic was beyond me.
Dust, there was dust on my picture frame. Apparently Arthur was a little slow today.
Alright, now for something a little more high class:
Regretably, I manage to pull myself from the utter horse blanket Arthur insisted was Shri Raji's finest material. Just what type of country was Shri Raji to condone its population to this? Well either way, I get myself out of bed alright.
Ah yes, Arthur made breakfast correctly this time. And the coffee...six minutes late as usual. Admissable, I suppose. But what wasn't admissable was the garbage sitting upon my breakfast table.
"You don't honestly expect me to read this rubbish, do you? The Newsbill? Have you any idea of exactly who writes the Newsbill?"
From across the table my brother was already sliding his glasses down his nose. He pointed to the main heading.
"You might learn something."
"Like what, that there's been another killing. Well, I can't say I'm surprised".
"Look at the location"
'Blood Jack Strikes again...Brutal, inhumane...investigators have no answers...Killings located closer to King's Quarters than ever before!
"It's still in Blackchapel, silly"
"Yes, but this time..."
"Oh don't bug me about this time! It's always this time! That's all the Newsbill ever does, get people excited over nothing. Next thing you know, the unfortunates will want more food."
My brother has never been an interesting person. My Suit, shirt, and hat all awaited me back in my room. One tuesdays I was condemned to the harsh study of what the professor dubbed 'Ancient Languages'. Surely something that old and tactless would have died by now. But, unfortunately apparently the path to becoming a true gentlemen required an education. Why that education included a throwback tongue known as Draconic was beyond me.
Dust, there was dust on my picture frame. Apparently Arthur was a little slow today.