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The Kind Proprietress
It was a dreary day in London. The clouds hung over the city as if they were God's spies, always waiting and looking for a sinner to strike with a lightning bolt. Despite the threat of holy smiting, the streets throbbed with life, from the highest Lord to the rats nibbling on the toes of some unfortunate soul. Today London showed her true face as a hole of shit, and even to true veterans it was enough to shorten the fuse on tempers. If the elbows were a little sharper, if the curses were a little harsher, nobody had time to notice. The sidewalks were just as crowded as the streets, and everyone KNEW what they were doing was the highest priority in the world. It was irrational to think another man's agenda even existed.
The Aviary was a beacon of light amongst the gloomy and forbidding storefronts around it. Literally so, as countless beeswax candles filled the windows and turned the store into a glittering treasure trove. It has been said their glow turns even the reddest skin porcelain, and the stringiest hair shining. Fitting, for a boutique focused on beauty and the pursuit of it. While one may think the smell inside would be a cacophony of contrasting perfumes, all of the samples sprayed seemed to come together and create a symphony of olfactory delight. Exotic birds roosted prettily in their gilded cages, not one squawking or screaming. If only the patrons weren't so self-centered, they might realize the atmosphere inside was almost like... magic.
It was fitting the boutique be named The Aviary, as the ladies themselves chattered and flitted like magpies. Just like magpies as well, they were often after the shiniest thing, and there was many a conversation about which fabrics, perfumes, and men were simply the best. When your livelihood depended on what was said about you and who said it, such topics could be vital to social survival. While they appeared to be gentle kittens with innocent conversations, their silk gloves hid bloodthirsty talons just waiting to grab onto someone else's folly. Right now the folly belonged to Elizabeth Harridan, who had been seen with a notorious libertine at an opera last night. Each and every one of them had saying it by not saying it down to an art form.
( A Nest of Vipers )
( Awkward )
The Aviary was a beacon of light amongst the gloomy and forbidding storefronts around it. Literally so, as countless beeswax candles filled the windows and turned the store into a glittering treasure trove. It has been said their glow turns even the reddest skin porcelain, and the stringiest hair shining. Fitting, for a boutique focused on beauty and the pursuit of it. While one may think the smell inside would be a cacophony of contrasting perfumes, all of the samples sprayed seemed to come together and create a symphony of olfactory delight. Exotic birds roosted prettily in their gilded cages, not one squawking or screaming. If only the patrons weren't so self-centered, they might realize the atmosphere inside was almost like... magic.
It was fitting the boutique be named The Aviary, as the ladies themselves chattered and flitted like magpies. Just like magpies as well, they were often after the shiniest thing, and there was many a conversation about which fabrics, perfumes, and men were simply the best. When your livelihood depended on what was said about you and who said it, such topics could be vital to social survival. While they appeared to be gentle kittens with innocent conversations, their silk gloves hid bloodthirsty talons just waiting to grab onto someone else's folly. Right now the folly belonged to Elizabeth Harridan, who had been seen with a notorious libertine at an opera last night. Each and every one of them had saying it by not saying it down to an art form.
( A Nest of Vipers )
( Awkward )