Junk in the Trunk

There are fragments of glass buried in your fingers. The sticky sheen of spilt champagne glosses your trouser leg. Listen: do you remember where you are?

Spatially, you are sitting on a bench in Duke Zahhak's gardens.

Temporally, you've left the party. You don't know what you did there or why you attended.

Narratively, you are a chapter heading. You are the unseen eye at the peephole. You are a small bug skimming over a great ocean. You are a blind man feeling an elephant's trunk and wondering what creature this is.

CHAPTER THREE

A sudden light transfigures a trivial thing, a weather-vane, a wind-mill, a winnowing flail, the dust in the barn door; a moment,—and the thing has vanished, because it was pure effect; but it leaves a relish behind it, a longing that the accident may happen again. - Troll Jerry Saltz

You 8acon-faced harridan, you--

Quiet, Marchioness.

Then we are assured-- we shan't meddle with each other.

You raise your hand; she catches your wrist.

Swear it, Marchioness.

All right, 8ut I never meddled with you. Just remember when she jilts you that I told you so! I told you she wasn't to 8e trusted. And what do you think I'd do to Mr. Eg8ert? 8reak his heart? Shame on you, Miss Lalonde, you and your stupid little needles!!!!!!!! I think you want to stick your thorns into everybody's 8usiness to show off. I think you're a 8ore and you're rude.

I think your cape is ugly.

Show dialogue:

What do you want from me?

Wh8t do you think?

I'm not easily ransomed. You'll have to win me.

You w8re trying to provoke me. Adm8t it. Wh8t have I done to you????????

Nothing in particular.

That's wh8t I thought!

Then why are we here?

You're not as clever as you think you are. No one trots out the old the8tre horse-- g-- d--n it, I h8 those statues.

I'm no blushing maid, but they are particularly vulgar. Continue.

No one would mention the8tre, unless--

Unless?

Unless they were trying to 8rag, or 8ully me, and they were a v8ry stupid little girl. So if you've 8uttered your 8un with Miss Maryam, I don't care!!!!!!!! Have your little tri8ade. She's greasepaint and 8ad faith, through and through.

Of course. I am very sorry for my nastiness. I will go sit in the corner and take porridge for my supper. I leave you with this, Marchioness: meddle too dearly with Mr. Egbert, and you'll find I'm a dab hand with a needle.

You dreadful little 8--. She would like you.

Show dialogue:

Impudent 8rat!!!!!!!! 8ut she has vim, I'll grant her that. A fine young filly, Zahhak.

D --> 100d

halibut wwe talk about the theatre again

Particularly pun-gent, Prince. Now, Marchioness: I know you like Shakespeare, for I am led to understand you were a popular patron. An "a88ess" of art, if you will.

Oh, I'm a philanthropist, cert8nly. I am not sure how you would know-- I've never seen you in my circle 8efore.

No; I am familiar with your charitable work, and I've heard much of you from my good friend Mister Egbert. We have many connexions.

I hope we'll m8ke more. Will you take a stroll with me a8out the garden?

Show dialogue:

Peter Pan? My l8 hus8and was fond of Peter Pan. How tearfully I recall it!

You pause and let the emotion wash over you. You are thoroughly dampened.

8ut I've not met this young lady. Surely this is not your prot8ge, dear Zahhak--

D --> I cannot imagine what you mean

Well, never mind; I want to see how well you've trained it. Your favorite p8nter? Writer? Where, if anywhere, should you like to go in life?

fra angelic0 j0hn ruskin and t0 fl0rence 0r t0 r0me

th0ugh if i may be h0nest t0 whitstable for 0ysters

What's your name?

miss megid0

Miss Megido, do you know who I am????????

y0u are very imp0lite 0_0

Show dialogue:

I love the the8tre!!!!!!!! Especially the actresses.

Then how did you find Miss Maryam's turn in Twelfth Night?

That was some time ago. Hasn't she stopped treading the 8oards?

Yes, but it's a favorite of mine. And, I heard, of yours-- unless something soured you on Shakespeare?

Too much 8ardolatry rots the teeth!

But not toothsome young trolls.

Before you can make your rejoinder, someone cuts in.

i was f0nd of peter pan

Small Rose and her mother, circa late 1860s.

==>

Show dialogue:

Ampora! Eridan Ampora!

His lips curl into the sneer of your name, but he doesn't say it. The last time you met was in a quiet glade on a winter morning, and then you drew your sword and painted the snow dark as wine with his blood. He is still bitter.

The woman regards you coolly. Who's this hygienic injection and suction syringe for ladies' use?

I might trouble you for an introduction, Your Highness.

the marchioness of m-- this is miss lalonde miss lalonde this is the marchioness of m-- and that wwas impolite vvris

Don't lecture me!!!!!!!! I'm not a cichlid.

id be loach to tell you thats a f--in terrible pun and doesnt make any sense but i did anywway

You're just such a wrasse I c8n't help it.

If I might launch my own rosy barb, our conversation has floundered. Before I make a mackerel of myself, let's goby a less contentious subject: Marchioness, what are your opinions on the theater?

==>

The marble gleams like a mirror, so sleek and clean you imagine pressing someone down, bidding her lap wine with her long emerald tongue. (She wouldn't have let you.) You cut a path through the crowd; in your wake, heads turn, voices susurrate, but you can spare no attention. They know: no one approaches.

His Highness waits for you! He is speaking with a sickly flower of a woman. Her hair is like a wan halo, her shoulders and chest like long snow-covered slopes. She might look decent broken from the black seedpod of her mourning.

The prince glances at you. You sink your hook and reel him in.

(He hates it when you use fish puns.)

>Miss Harley: Abruptly be the Marchioness.

Weeks in the future, but not many...

You are yet again the Marchioness, and you are about to grace this terrible party with your presence. In your doing so it will become the best party.

You will forge alliances. You will make your fortune (again). Tonight fate itself quivers like aspic in your hands.

==>

Show dialogue:

john, somebody wrote on this.

yes, but look! we're invited to a real ball held by a real duke! with royalty and everything.

you werent invited already we got ours weeks ago

the marchioness tugged some of the strings in her web, hehe.

dave, you'll be there? we can announce our engagement, it's perfect!!!

His reaction is more confusion than joy, but his face is a giant bruise. You're not sure any expression is going to happen.