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Old 07-26-2003, 09:28 AM   #1
amanda
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Merging

Rules:

First: Make up a fictional character

second: follow that character through a story set in separate physical space.

third: let's see if we can all get all the charcters to meet before our time is up.

By the end, we should have our several separate stories and characters converge onto one point.
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Old 07-26-2003, 09:37 AM   #2
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She was the embodiment of perfection. She knew no other like it- this puppet to create shadows on a simple sheet, a flicker of a candle and an audience to take it all in.

The details in her dress were enough to show that she was the queen of all she surveyed- but there was something more. Something about her small porceline face. Of course, she was a mere doll- only created to make shadows. But in that face was the look- the look of regality. Stoicism.
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Old 07-26-2003, 10:53 AM   #3
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::going out on a limb here, because I think I understand what to do, but I'm not sure. In other words, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, as it happens often ::

Being a statue, even for an adult, was no fun. Cursed by his elegant appearance (and wealthy relatives), the prince found himself sitting for one portrait or another at least four times a week. Since the day he was old enough to sit still, commissioned artists had painted every curve of his face, capturing every expression that crossed his countenance.

His brother, Prince Elmore, failed to see the merit in his complaints. “You should be proud—you’re the image of an empire. When the world thinks of our kingdom, they think of you.” But it wasn’t about the public image. It was about not being able to play with the other boys, because you had to sit all day. It was about the soreness that lingered for hours on end, from sitting, without movement, until dinner. It was about being dusted, plucked, primped, and displayed by countless maids and servants, in order to be perfect for every portrait. Perfection was misery.
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Old 07-26-2003, 11:08 AM   #4
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:cool thidwick. you got it.:

Mujara was never allowed to touch this puppet when she was a child. It was her father's prized jewel- and therefore, completely off limits to the careless hands of the unintiated. Even the members of the guild treated this small treasure as though she were truly alive and could dipose them to the other side of her phantom queendom with a mere flicker of her wrist.

A wrist attached to a string, a string manipultated by her father. And now, by her- her father's daughter.

They were wise to keep a wide berth.
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Old 07-26-2003, 11:21 AM   #5
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Aliane knew her place. She was meant to be in the sidelines, watching others make things happen and envying them, but not blessed with enough of the genetic bounty to ever have even the remotest hope of joining in.

It was good to know one's place, though. That's what her parents always told her. Why, they gave her a life of luxury, they said, living in an apartment inside a glamorous home, surrounded by beauty and amusements, most of which were forbidden to her. Her cousins, by contrast, lived in the squalid, bustling parts of the city, where even going to school could be dangerous. When she visited them, she knew her life was safer and softer. So one lived longer, knowing one's place.

But sometimes she chafed at the constraints of her allotments. She wanted the things that she dusted, the things that she helped her parents care for so assiduously, to be hers, truly hers.

It ate at her daily, and she pitied her mom and dad for what they would think if they knew of her ingratitude.
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Old 07-26-2003, 11:32 AM   #6
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It was summer now, and warm, the fine dust of the road gentle beneath her bare feet. Once she reached the city she knew she'd be subjected to cobblestone - and blistered soles, if she wasn't careful. But Syla was nothing if not careful; a thief had to be. Of course, the entire reason she was headed towards Collura now was because of a simple moment's inattention in her erstwhile native city of Malkven. It did not bode well to anger thief clans, however loosely organized, especially if one was alone, female, and part Gypsy, to make it even worse. But it didn't do to think of that now.

Syla slipped along the edges of the steady stream of people moving towards the city, careful to keep out from beneath both the hooves of pack beasts and the eyes of the guards that lined the this last stretch the King's Road. She did not look like a thief, she knew, so much as a scrawny country girl, a facade the cotton dress she'd filched on the way out of Malkven had been chosen to reinforce.
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Old 07-26-2003, 12:13 PM   #7
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It was cold, as cold as the stone the place was built in, and Aliane shivered in her thin shift. She would never be plump and cozy, not with all the work she had to do. Hers was no endless stream of picnics and parties, but the making and cleaning up of them.

Seeking a spot to warm her bones, she slipped away to the room that held a shaft of light all afternoon -- and the toy she yearned for more than anything else in the world. The puppet.
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Old 07-26-2003, 12:22 PM   #8
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“Odran! Come here, we must prepare you for Mr. Everett.”

“Not another painter? How many artists are there in this country?”

“That’s no concern of yours. Put these on. Then Elise will prepare. Be in the parlor before nine.”

“Yes, mum.” He donned the costume, this one a scarlet red with gold trim, and looked in the mirror. He wasn’t that handsome. What on earth was all the fuss about?

“Prince Odran? May I come in?” Elsie’s voice was meek and unobtrusive. If not for her knocking, he was sure he wouldn’t have heard her.

“Please.” He answered. “How are you, Elsie?”

Elsie blushed, pleased to be addressed by the prince, “Very well, sire, and yourself?” She began to brush his hair.

“I’m terrible, Elsie. I’m going insane. I need you to do me a favor—fetch me some old clothes, and a wig. Have them sitting under the bed when I return. And not a word to anyone else.”

“Haven’t you anything you could use in your closet. I’m sure your mother…”

“My mother is not to hear of this. I’m going to escape, Elsie. I need to look like a commoner.”

“You can’t leave, you have an appointment tomorrow…”

“Elsie, don’t you get it? I need to get away from the appointments. I’ve got to leave here before I die in front of a painter. Please, help me, Elsie. You’re the only one who can.”

“Yes, Prince Odran. I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.” He said, checking himself in the mirror. “Remember, not a word.”
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Old 07-26-2003, 12:59 PM   #9
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Laid down to sleep, Mujara carefully placed the Queen back inside her velvet-lined case. Time-sanded and smooth, the mahogany case felt cool to the touch. It was made specifically for the puppet queen by the blind man of her father's village. He had once seen the traveling puppet show when he was a child- in the days before he lost his eyesight. The case was almost as stunning as the contents it was meant to protect- the trim inlaid with puple heart and teak, all woods from Mujara's homeland.

Mujara returned to the village in her mind. As a child, she always cringed at the thought of staying there. Now, she longed more than ever to return home.
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Old 07-26-2003, 01:44 PM   #10
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That evening he found a basket sitting under his bed, containing simple brown knickers, a dingy-white cambric shirt and an old brown formal wig. Accompanying them was a pair of scissors and a note—“This is the best I could do”. Realizing what she meant for him to do, he began to trim the wig into a messy, boyish style. When he was finished altering the wig he tried on his new clothes. They would do fine. He replaced them in the basket and went to bed, planning to leave early the next morning.
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Old 07-26-2003, 02:33 PM   #11
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It promised to be a long night. Mujara could never sleep before long journeys. The anticipation was too much and the stars seemed too brilliant. In any case, her mind was back to the village again.

Pictures hanging crooked on the thick clay walls, ceiling fans creaking with each wobbly turn. Flowers as big as her tiny outstreched palms, dripping with dew and sunlight. Sweet pipe smoke cloaking the old guild men sitting on the veranda, swapping tales and riddles with her father. The taste of warm, sweet chutneys of.... a woman...her mother?

Those pictures. Why did those pictures seem so familiar to her?
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Old 07-26-2003, 02:39 PM   #12
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When he awoke he looked under the bed to find a small sack next to his new outfit. There were warm muffins, some rolls, a few silver pieces, and a handkerchief. The silver breakfast tray awaited him, the perfect tool to get downstairs unnoticed. He ate the warm porridge and replaced the lid. It was time. He changed, and positioned the wig firmly on his head. He noticed some dirty brown boots had been placed beside the door and smiled. Elise thought of everything.

He carefully carried the tray to the kitchen. “Boy! Get back to the stables! What are you doing in here? You’ll dirty the kitchen, stomping around here. Shoo!” The head cook threw a biscuit at him and shut the door behind him. And suddenly before him was an entire world to be explored. Oh, the luck of peasants!
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Old 07-26-2003, 02:57 PM   #13
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Syla slipped along in the shadows of the street, keeping an eye out for both probable targets and the patrol. Since arriving in the city she'd found a street gang - consisting mainly of children younger than Syla herself - willing to take her in as long as she pulled her own weight . Thus far she'd done quite well - no one expected her to be a thief, and there was no one there that knew her lineage. With her long wheaten braid and wide grey eyes, she looked neither like a pickpocket nor a Gypsy, despite the gold tinge to her skin, and both suited her well enough.

Kibeth, the leader of the gang, had procured both an old, but usable pair of shoes for her as well as a threadbare shawl. The latter she wore draped over her head like an old woman, bearing the heat that accompanied it rather than risk confronting ruffians searching for youthful faces for their shadow trades.

It was early yet, but Syla had the feeling something important was on the way.
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Old 07-26-2003, 03:09 PM   #14
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It was a puppet prince, done in the likeness of Prince Odran himself. Only his eyes were lapis lazuli, his lips were of rose quartz, and Aliane knew the gold that lined his purple cape was not mere gilt.

He stood in the open door of his case, captured forever where Aliane could go and dream that he would one day come to life and take her to a palace that would be hers and his alone. She had heard that there were only a few such puppets in the world, a royal family made by a blind craftsman.

She vowed to make this one her own.
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Old 07-26-2003, 03:23 PM   #15
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Even for a mouse Elvira was small. and today she felt especially so. she could almost duck between the drops of rain.
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