The Moirae (apportioners) wrote in forgotten_past, @ 2009-05-25 13:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | baba yaga, the moirae |
Let's do the time warp again!
Who: The Fates, OPEN
Where: The girls' brothel, Destin House; Shasta, California
When: Midmorning; June, 1851
Rating: TBD
Three sets of hands ghosted across the ancient loom, brushing over the seemingly disorderly tangle of undyed threads with a deft, experienced touch. The youngest pair fed a new strand, pure white and fresh from the spindle, into the weaving; while in a ramshackle crib across town, a blue-eyed babe emerged crying into the world.
A second pair of hands adeptly inspected their work, fingers pausing every so often on an individual thread, to all outward appearances no different from any of the others. Here a swarthy Italian, his life-fibre pulsating with hope as his toil was rewarded with a rich vein of gold. Here a young wife, clinging precariously to a too-thin strand as a fever contracted on the road to Shasta threatened to claim her. And here... Now the hands hesitated.
A pair of crossed threads, heavy with foreboding. A hand hovered briefly, and then carefully separated one of the fibres. This was taken by the third set of hands, the oldest of all; the right one holding the thread taut and steady while the fingers of the left curled around a pair of ancient shears. In a local gold mine, a warning shout was cut short but a cascade of falling rock - but inside the brothel, the only sound that was heard was the efficient snip of the scissors.
Presently, the wielder of the blades - the woman known to most mortal acquaintances as Adele Destin, but to those who truly knew her as Atropos of the Moirae - settled back onto her heels and placed the shears down beside her. "Well. That's that." She said, after a short silence. Then, "I never asked. How's our little family this morning?"
"Ida and Fanny are still at each other's throats," Lachesis said wearily. "I'm trying to keep them separated, but I suspect we shall have to deal with them sooner rather than later. They actually came to blows this time. No real harm done, though Fanny has quite an impressive black eye to show for it."
"Huh. And here I thought it was s'posed to be women who turned menfolk into mindless fools, not the other way 'round," Atropos grunted. "And over Jack Rogers, too. Ain't even much of a catch, the smug old bugg--"
"Sadie is pregnant." Clotho's quiet utterance drew sharp looks from the other two, which she met with the slightest incline of her head. "She doesn't know yet."
This was apparently news to both Lachesis and Atropos, though they didn't doubt its veracity. The Spinner always had been the most sensitive to such things.
"Wonderful," Atropos sank into a chair with a sigh. "And one of our best girls, too."
Lachesis frowned at her. "You talk as if we've already lost her."
"One way or another, we have," the Crone said grimly. "If she doesn't die in the birthing or kill herself trying to abort the poor wretch, you can bet your boots she'll never get that pretty little figure back."
"That's very cynical, Atty," said Clotho reprovingly.
"I'm old, I'm allowed to be cynical. Where the bloody heck is my pipe?" This last bit muttered half to herself.
"We're all old," Lachesis pointed out.
"Well, I'm older," returned Atropos. "It mightn't be pleasant, but they're truths all the same and somebody's got to own 'em. I'm only being realistic."
That silenced her sisters for a moment. Then the Maiden drew in a long breath, and stood. "Well, truths they may be, but there's nothing we can do about them now, and especially not by dwelling on them. I'm going to get some air."
"As you wish," mumbled Atropos. Having finally retrieved her pipe, she was immediately preoccupied with filling it. One hand groped across the table for her tobacco pouch, only to be smacked away by Lachesis.
"You can, too, if you plan on smoking that," the Mother ordered sternly. "You know how I feel about having those things inside."
"Bah." Atropos made a face but she wasn't inclined to argue, instead snatching up the pouch and following Clotho out onto the veranda.