November 2015




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Sep. 23rd, 2015


Delivery: Caliban

[A letter finds its way to Caliban, though it is clearly addressed to one Mr. John Clare. The penmanship is strained, that of a woman who does not write often.]

Dear Mr. Clare,

I pray this missive finds you in good health. Please forgive any lack of communication that you may have experienced on my part. The accident has left my mind with gaps that I seem unable to fill. I was informed by my dear cousin that you were my intended. Try as I may, the memories of our time together fail to return.

Can you tell me any more of our acquaintance? How did we meet? How long have we known one another? What interests do we share?

I hope we can continue our friendship.

~Lily Frankenstein

Sep. 14th, 2015


Public as Lily F

[As Lily F. The handwriting is very shaky and comes slow, as if she is still trying to learn how the letters are formed.]


Victor, is this book your doing?

Sep. 2nd, 2015



[Upon return to his home, there is an unexpected development in the realm of interior decoration. Becoming quite distraught, Victor medically prescribes himself ampules of morphine until his being is reduced to drool and dithers. Hours later, from beneath the medicine's spell, Victor continues work on the sketch he'd started several days before. It grows on the journal page until elegant strokes master the whole of it, penciled and public.]

Aug. 3rd, 2015


Public, Vanessa Ives, Dracula

I seek the sender of the ribbon.

[Locked to Vanessa I]
Dearest Vanessa.

[Locked to Dracula]
[Upon waking somewhere windowless, yet elegantly appointed. It's late evening, and her mind has settled during the day's slumber.]

Dancing music, music sad,
Both together, sane and mad...

Am I prisoner here?

Aug. 2nd, 2015


Mina M

[Delivery to Mina M]

[The box comes on Sunday, slender and long and wrapped in an elegant lavender paper tied off with a yellow ribbon. Inside, a ribbon the color of the summer sun, satiny and smooth. A notecard rests just beneath the ribbon, folded in half, and written on the inside in green ink, a small note:]

To replace the one that I took.

Jul. 27th, 2015



The worlds beyond this one are stranger than I ever could have imagined. There is something to be said about the comforts of home and its familiar environment, isn't there?

Jun. 22nd, 2015


Delivery: Victor F

[The ribbons were violet and black, made of satin and well-taken care of. Coiled neatly in a small brown box tied off with a bit of string, it arrives early in the morning by a private courier. There is no note enclosed, though a message can be found in the bottom of the box, written upon the paper itself.]

Loneliness is a dangerous thing, father.


Jun. 12th, 2015



[Unclear print lines. Slight angle.]

Dear Mother Tabbyskins, and how are you now, let me feel your pulse, so-so, show your tongue, bow-wow!

Very sick, very sick!

Please attempt to purr.
Will you take a draught or pill, which do you prefer?

Doctor Dog comes nearer, says she must be bled.
I heard Mother Tabbyskins screaming in her bed.

Very fast very fast scuffling out and in, Doctor Dog looks full and queer
Where is Tabbyskin?
I will tell the moral without any fuss:
those who lead the young astray always suffer thus.

Very nice, very nice let our conduct be.
For all doctors are not mice, some are dogs, you see.

Jun. 7th, 2015


[public, locks to victor f, mina m]

[locked to victor f]

Sir, I hope your dreams carried you through without trouble. Any news of Mina's condition?

[locked to mina m]

How fares the gossip? Was the gathering well-received?

[public, anonymous]

I am interested to speak to anyone who knows something of the dead who are not dead.

May. 14th, 2015


As Anonymous


Sir, one would presume you did not wish to take up the position, given a lack of return address.

May. 12th, 2015


Victor F, Mina M, Vanessa I, Irene A

[Locked to Victor F]

You've been making a lot of visits in the evening as of late.

[Locked to Mina M]

The party was quite enjoyable.

[Locked to Vanessa I]

Have you heard any new gossip about town?

[Delivery to "Mr. E" at Trafalgar Square]

[The letter comes by private courier several days after the initial conversation. In a tidy, angular handwriting, the author details his experience in odd jobs at the theatre and around town. He goes so far as to assure the recipient of his ability to handle even the most messy of situations as well as a promise to discretion.

There is no return address, and the letter is signed only 'Caliban'.]

May. 9th, 2015



[The writing is sharp, spiked. It is dark and the words are unmarred by splotches: expensive ink does not spread deeply into the paper.]


General man-of-all-work. Discretion and a strong stomach required.

Salaried. Uniform paid for.

Apr. 28th, 2015



Next time, I shall ignore such invitations and simply stay home.

The company was enjoyable, but I do not enjoy being whispered about.

Apr. 2nd, 2015


[Party log]

Who: Whoever wishes to attend!
What: Party at the Murray House
Where: Penny Dreadful(s)
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Please place locations and warnings in subject headers. Feel free to "dibs" threads. Simultaneous threads per character are allowed.

The Murray House was situated at the end of the street in the affluent part of London. Imposing, it was a structure built by a man determined to leave his mark on the world in every possible way.

The door was answered by two footmen, and carriages were directed around the back. Men and women awaited announcement, all agog to see the disreputable women who inhabited the home. One fair and disgraced. The other dark and possessed. Or so the rumors said.

The lights were dim for the evening, as was the fashion for parties with darker themes. On silver platters, champagne and sweets were served, and there was a bar in the sitting room with stronger drinks and cigars for the gentlemen.

Beyond the grand entrance hall, the parlor was a room for the telling of fortunes. The woman at the table was not Miss Ives, but a hired woman from town, her fortunes daring and decadent. Low lights, and chairs around the table, the woman prophesied the strangest things for all to hear.

Theatricals were held in in the study, on a platform before Sir Malcom's impressive map. The performances were Grand Guignol in nature, with faux vampires feasting on innocent girls, pretend werewolves eating young lads, and much fake blood to go around in a room deliberately darkened and filled with the delighted screams of London's elite.

The grand staircase led to the upstairs halls, and the finely appointed rooms beyond, where none of the doors were barred for the evening. And surely the basement, with its darkness and random shackles, should have been locked for the evening, but it was not.

Mar. 23rd, 2015



[As simply 'Caliban']

What curious things names are. A label given to one by a parental figure that you carry with you through life. It becomes something that both identifies you and you are identified by in the same breath.

Your name, are you fond of it? Are you attached to it? Or is there something else you would rather be called?

Mar. 19th, 2015


public from victor f.

[The handwriting is sharp, ink blotted, but exquisite.]

We have come to a place between heaven and hell. Between the living and the dead. A glorious place with everlasting rebirth, perhaps even salvation. Is there a price to pay for such a residence? As there is with all things?