truth be told - Printable Version
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truth be told - Ezra Applegate - December 29, 2024
31 December, 1894 — Time Turner Ball, London
There was something the matter with Ezra. He could feel it in the same vague way one could feel a stomach ache coming on, but hadn't grasped the exact size and shape of it yet. Physically he was fine, but he was aware that he was acting... off. Not consistently, not distinctly, but sometimes he just said things and thought — why did I say that? It had been happening intermittently for the past few hours, but he hadn't had time to really stop and think about what was happening because they had been busy these past few hours. Preparations for the party Hanna was dragging him to — Hanna liked parties, he usually didn't, but could at least stand them better than Byron — and then of course with the party itself.
Fancy dress was encouraged, the invitation said, and Ezra had stubbornly donned exactly the same suit he'd worn to the last party, not feeling especially festive or particularly keen to play pretend. And half the guests looked ridiculous, anyway; there was a reason these fashions from the sixteen hundreds or whatever era they were from had gone out of fashion in the first place. He'd spotted someone who seemed to have transformed their suit into a fully functional hourglass, with sand running from top to bottom and then resetting every few minutes. Who had the energy for that? Where did he find the time? People with no real problems in their lives, he determined. People with nothing to do except be frivolous.
He was trying to make the drink in his hand last as long as possible and hovering awkwardly on the ends of conversations — not near the dance floor, he had no particular interest in dancing with anyone tonight unless Hanna forced him to dance with her. This left him very near to the other dance that was going on, the one with the performers and their changing costumes. They seemed to be doing a bit about ancient China at the moment. Ezra spent a beat too long looking at a woman in a kimono and a tail and wondering if she was meant to be a woman or an animal or a goddess or something else entirely — did the performers think anyone had worn that or was this some sort of retelling of a myth? Someone seemed to have noticed him staring, and asked whether he was enjoying the performance.
"Oh, no," he said before he could think better of it. "This whole thing is perfectly ridiculous."
Fancy dress was encouraged, the invitation said, and Ezra had stubbornly donned exactly the same suit he'd worn to the last party, not feeling especially festive or particularly keen to play pretend. And half the guests looked ridiculous, anyway; there was a reason these fashions from the sixteen hundreds or whatever era they were from had gone out of fashion in the first place. He'd spotted someone who seemed to have transformed their suit into a fully functional hourglass, with sand running from top to bottom and then resetting every few minutes. Who had the energy for that? Where did he find the time? People with no real problems in their lives, he determined. People with nothing to do except be frivolous.
He was trying to make the drink in his hand last as long as possible and hovering awkwardly on the ends of conversations — not near the dance floor, he had no particular interest in dancing with anyone tonight unless Hanna forced him to dance with her. This left him very near to the other dance that was going on, the one with the performers and their changing costumes. They seemed to be doing a bit about ancient China at the moment. Ezra spent a beat too long looking at a woman in a kimono and a tail and wondering if she was meant to be a woman or an animal or a goddess or something else entirely — did the performers think anyone had worn that or was this some sort of retelling of a myth? Someone seemed to have noticed him staring, and asked whether he was enjoying the performance.
"Oh, no," he said before he could think better of it. "This whole thing is perfectly ridiculous."
RE: truth be told - Persephone Broadmoor - January 10, 2025
A time-turner ball, but Persy, at least in her opinion, had no time to give.
Her mother, true to form, had dragged her to the damned thing in complete disregard of the fact that Persephone would typically prefer to ring in the new year with Ivy or at home with just the family. This was not a typical year, mind, but it spoke to Millicent Broadmoor's ignorance—or, more likely, strong desire to see her only daughter settled. To her credit, Persy had danced twice already, each time with a gentleman her mother had tried to subtly steer her towards (Mr. Hart had seemed disinterested, and Mr. Wolfram had been dreadfully full of himself). The hope was that if she played the Dutiful Daugther and Delightful (well, not awful) Debutante well enough, she could sneak off with plenty of time to attend to her own new year's plans.
"You're enjoying this, Mr. Applegate?" Persephone asked the unspeakable with some skepticism. She had pointedly moved towards the first tolerable acquaintance she had been able to spot when she had noted her mother—another gentleman in tow—making a beeline for her. Mr. Applegate was more than tolerable, and was indeed part of the reason she even had to contend with her mother's meddling—rather than being forgotten entirely by the woman who had borne her. Seeing him engrossed in this particular spectacle, though, had come as something of a surprise.
"Oh, no. This whole thing is perfectly ridiculous."
It was a sentiment with which she could not disagree, though Persy was nonethless briefly nonplussed. Truth or no, it was not the sort of thing one admitted to readily in polite company, even if that company was her.
Persephone cast her gaze about to ensure the hostess, at least, was not within earshot.
"I am not accustomed to your frankness," she admitted once satisfied it was safe. "I had thought it was something to which unspeakables were allergic."
Her mother, true to form, had dragged her to the damned thing in complete disregard of the fact that Persephone would typically prefer to ring in the new year with Ivy or at home with just the family. This was not a typical year, mind, but it spoke to Millicent Broadmoor's ignorance—or, more likely, strong desire to see her only daughter settled. To her credit, Persy had danced twice already, each time with a gentleman her mother had tried to subtly steer her towards (Mr. Hart had seemed disinterested, and Mr. Wolfram had been dreadfully full of himself). The hope was that if she played the Dutiful Daugther and Delightful (well, not awful) Debutante well enough, she could sneak off with plenty of time to attend to her own new year's plans.
"You're enjoying this, Mr. Applegate?" Persephone asked the unspeakable with some skepticism. She had pointedly moved towards the first tolerable acquaintance she had been able to spot when she had noted her mother—another gentleman in tow—making a beeline for her. Mr. Applegate was more than tolerable, and was indeed part of the reason she even had to contend with her mother's meddling—rather than being forgotten entirely by the woman who had borne her. Seeing him engrossed in this particular spectacle, though, had come as something of a surprise.
"Oh, no. This whole thing is perfectly ridiculous."
It was a sentiment with which she could not disagree, though Persy was nonethless briefly nonplussed. Truth or no, it was not the sort of thing one admitted to readily in polite company, even if that company was her.
Persephone cast her gaze about to ensure the hostess, at least, was not within earshot.
"I am not accustomed to your frankness," she admitted once satisfied it was safe. "I had thought it was something to which unspeakables were allergic."
RE: truth be told - Ezra Applegate - January 11, 2025
"Miss Broadmoor," he said in greeting. As far as conversation partners went she was better than most to have been on the receiving end of that remark, so he could say he was happy to see her. She didn't seem inclined to hurry off and report his rudeness to her friends or the hostess. "When you say it like that you make my colleagues and I sound like liars," he said with a wry twist of his mouth. "Which is unfair. We seldom lie. We just seldom tell the whole truth."
Of course she hadn't actually accused him of dishonesty; she'd said his frankness was disconcerting. And he had to admit she had a point. If he was in the habit of only saying a quarter of the truth when it came to his work, that same principle could have been applied here. He might have answered her question with it's not much my taste or it's very eye-catching or something of the sort, and instead he had come out with the baldest version of his real feelings. This was out of character for him. Another symptom of the vague something wrong he'd been feeling for hours.
No sooner had he thought this than he heard himself telling her about it, though still with the teasing tone of party banter. "But I think you've caught me in an odd state of mind tonight. I hope you're not inclined to take advantage by peppering me with questions that would get me in trouble."
Of course she hadn't actually accused him of dishonesty; she'd said his frankness was disconcerting. And he had to admit she had a point. If he was in the habit of only saying a quarter of the truth when it came to his work, that same principle could have been applied here. He might have answered her question with it's not much my taste or it's very eye-catching or something of the sort, and instead he had come out with the baldest version of his real feelings. This was out of character for him. Another symptom of the vague something wrong he'd been feeling for hours.
No sooner had he thought this than he heard himself telling her about it, though still with the teasing tone of party banter. "But I think you've caught me in an odd state of mind tonight. I hope you're not inclined to take advantage by peppering me with questions that would get me in trouble."