Phaedra M. Paderborn (painbreak) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-11-29 18:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | heroin, laudanum, morphine, opium |
Who: Morphine & Open to the Opiates
Where: Phaedra's home in Brooklyn
When: Sunday evening
Warnings: TBD.
Phaedra had spent much of the late morning with the feather duster, brushing it across the tops of shelves and book cases that lined the library room of her large, warm Victorianhome in Brooklyn. Her home had walls that were studies in varying shades of red, and the walls were lined with Symbolist and Romanticist landscapes.Cozy and darkly colored throw blankets were draped over each couch in each sitting room, and plush Victorian carpets accented the deep mahogany flooring. Morphine's home had no television, and no means of watching films. There was one radio, and it was in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs; a record player pleasantly occupied one corner of the coziest of sitting rooms, near to the front door. The lighting in her home was dim, much like her personal office at the clinic, and there was an immense warmth to everything about the house's interior decoration and heating - Phaedra hated to be cold or reminded of the cold, so all colors were warm, blankets were aplenty, and she often found her shoulders draped and swaddled by over-sized shawls most of the hours she spent inside. She had spent the afternoon lounging in the sun room patio reading poetry, and in the hours of dusk she opted for a more productive, practical pursuit of paying her bills and preparing patient paperwork for that week.
Now, she was busying herself in the kitchen with preparing tea, the smells of savory pastries and treats emanating from two ovens. She lived alone, but the space was enormous; Opium had declared the couch in the living room she most frequently occupied as his own, and it was a pleasure to be sharing her home with him. She hadn't taken it upon herself to mention to her elder brother that there were furnished bedrooms upstairs that he could take for his own. She was not sure where he was or what he was up to, but she had made the call to her sister and her twin earlier in the afternoon to invite them to a light supper and tea.
She could now distantly hear lilting music coming from a room elsewhere on the ground floor, smiling gently to herself at Opium's try at the piano Heroin had given her several decades earlier. Phaedra leaned over, clutching an oven mitt and humming lightly to herself, to open the oven and pull out the tray of small savory pot pies. This evening, she wore a dark red sweater tunic that had a relaxed, effortless fit and fell lazily over her shoulders and rested gently along the slight curve of her hip and over the black leggings she wore. Phaedra was decidedly more casual within the comfort of her own home. That she was wearing dark burgundy leg warmers was enough to suggest as much.
As she turned slowly from the oven holding the tray, she feebly tried to push up a sleeve, and, for the moment, was uncertain whether or not she was about to run into Opium with the baking sheet full of small pies or if either of her other siblings had already arrived.