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entrancelogs2018-03-05 03:08 pm
nascensibility) wrote in entrancelogs2018-03-05 03:08 pm
Entry tags:
[OPEN] patience is a virtue
Who: Evelyn and you!
Where: Various (see below)
When: 3/5
Rating: PG-PG13
Summary: Forays into mildly-charted territories and the usual locales.
The Story:
kitchen
[As a woman forced to learn the art of patience over the course of her stay in this gilded prison Evelyn has taken to adopting (read: attempting) a number of hobbies, even if they won't stick with her once she's gone - if she leaves at all. Usually this falls to learning additional languages for the mental challenge it provides, but languages aren't all that fun when they can't be utilised and Wonderland's handy translation feature makes it difficult to engage properly. February's chill still lingers in the early hours of March, and so she has resorted to perusing the contents of one of her Christmas gifts in the kitchen, modifying and adapting elements to try to recreate something she had at a dinner once, in America.
The little box of index cards sits open on the counter top and Evelyn, the consummate proponent of propriety, is addressing a rather sorry excuse for a Beef Wellington.]
What absolute bollocks-
[She swears loudly, picking at the limp and lacklustre pastry that was supposed to have puffed up. What feels like a thousand steps in and she can't even execute the last one to satisfaction, duxelles and pΓ’tΓ© all for naught. Unwilling to better examine what went wrong she picks the entire sheet up with a sound of disgust and chucks everything into the rubbish bin.
She rolls up her sleeves to try again.]
library
[Post-cooking disaster Evelyn can be found doing her daily milling through the stacks: shelving, re-shelving, making idle comments on book subjects before disappearing down another row. She eventually wanders to the archives for a 'bout of - admittedly early - spring cleaning, files spread far and wide across the west wing sitting area. It is a variety of sorting, for the express purpose of putting older materials away into a kind of storage when they aren't reference all that often.
On occasion she will greet the stray library patron with her usual friendliness, though she looks a little frazzled and will occasionally pause to write something down in a nearby notebook.]
Oh! Hello there.
various
[The late afternoon sees a desperate need for respite out-of-doors, and Evelyn can be found at the stables, then the outside gun range. At the former venue she is most likely to challenge any visitors to a race for the sheer thrill of it, and at the latter Evelyn professes a deep interest in the firearms made available after her era, asking about them in well-meaning curiosity.
Keeping excessively active tends to serve her best: all the easier to avoid lingering for too long on fears based in an ancient world, from another time. Sitting still isn't exactly an option.]
Where: Various (see below)
When: 3/5
Rating: PG-PG13
Summary: Forays into mildly-charted territories and the usual locales.
The Story:
kitchen
[As a woman forced to learn the art of patience over the course of her stay in this gilded prison Evelyn has taken to adopting (read: attempting) a number of hobbies, even if they won't stick with her once she's gone - if she leaves at all. Usually this falls to learning additional languages for the mental challenge it provides, but languages aren't all that fun when they can't be utilised and Wonderland's handy translation feature makes it difficult to engage properly. February's chill still lingers in the early hours of March, and so she has resorted to perusing the contents of one of her Christmas gifts in the kitchen, modifying and adapting elements to try to recreate something she had at a dinner once, in America.
The little box of index cards sits open on the counter top and Evelyn, the consummate proponent of propriety, is addressing a rather sorry excuse for a Beef Wellington.]
What absolute bollocks-
[She swears loudly, picking at the limp and lacklustre pastry that was supposed to have puffed up. What feels like a thousand steps in and she can't even execute the last one to satisfaction, duxelles and pΓ’tΓ© all for naught. Unwilling to better examine what went wrong she picks the entire sheet up with a sound of disgust and chucks everything into the rubbish bin.
She rolls up her sleeves to try again.]
library
[Post-cooking disaster Evelyn can be found doing her daily milling through the stacks: shelving, re-shelving, making idle comments on book subjects before disappearing down another row. She eventually wanders to the archives for a 'bout of - admittedly early - spring cleaning, files spread far and wide across the west wing sitting area. It is a variety of sorting, for the express purpose of putting older materials away into a kind of storage when they aren't reference all that often.
On occasion she will greet the stray library patron with her usual friendliness, though she looks a little frazzled and will occasionally pause to write something down in a nearby notebook.]
Oh! Hello there.
various
[The late afternoon sees a desperate need for respite out-of-doors, and Evelyn can be found at the stables, then the outside gun range. At the former venue she is most likely to challenge any visitors to a race for the sheer thrill of it, and at the latter Evelyn professes a deep interest in the firearms made available after her era, asking about them in well-meaning curiosity.
Keeping excessively active tends to serve her best: all the easier to avoid lingering for too long on fears based in an ancient world, from another time. Sitting still isn't exactly an option.]
no subject
[As in, WHERE ELSE do you think Frank hangs out when he's not in the library doing a little friendly surveilling?] I'm out here just about every day.
Better question is what you're doing out here.
no subject
[Surely he didn't expect that to not be used against him. Evelyn shifts, shouldering the leather strap of her gun higher and stopping just a few feet from him.
It occurs to her that he has never seen her handle herself in a real fight - any argument they've had has included such weaponry as verbal barbs, and only once did Evelyn use a firearm in Frank's presence. At the time he'd been grousing, however, and thoroughly convinced of her inherent helplessness.]
...did my rifle not give it away?
no subject
[Seriously. He's fired some old weapons, for fun, but damn.
It occurs to him after the words are out of his mouth that that might not have come out quite right. ]
...good to see you. Outside.
no subject
[Comes the flat response as she thumbs the strap, fingers twitching in minor irritation. The Lee-Enfield is the premiere rifle of the British Army - perhaps a relic in other times, but a perfectly serviceable bolt-action with a range that will crack someone's knee off from a mile away.
Evelyn resigns herself to the inevitability of people forgetting what time she comes from. It doesn't mean she won't be prickly about it.]
I needed the fresh air.
no subject
[Also, why would you want to shoot Frank? He's so nice! ]
...who's bugging you? [You can't fool Frank: 'needing fresh air' is a euphemism. Especially when accompanied by a rifle. Even if it is bolt action. ]
no subject
No one.
[It isn't a lie. She isn't pointedly ignoring anyone, nor does she have a particular issue that needs to be addressed. There is tension, yes, but there is always some variety of tension, and if anything she is still mildly disappointed by this morning's cooking disaster.
Evelyn sidles to the slab table where he's set up shop, setting her rifle on it with care and digging around in her bag.]
Can't a girl practise her riflery without needing to superimpose someone's face over the target?
no subject
You sure about that? Figured if you just needed to get out, you'd be in the stables again. People come to blow some lead for, you know, reasons.
[He's not prying. Just putting that out there. Also, ignore the fact that by that logic, he, too, has 'reasons' to be out here.]
no subject
Nefertiri moved into her and mitigating the effects is more difficult than Evelyn would have imagined.]
Can the reason be you insulting my gun?
[She asks sweetly, eyeing him. She isn't entirely certain that she can share the Duat with Frank, as he does not know its context.]
no subject
I'm not insulting it. It's just you know, antique. Vintage.
[He may, in fact, want to pet it. ]
no subject
I know you want to pick it up. Go ahead.
no subject
No I don't. [Of course he does, so he's going to pretend he's just that nice a guy who accepts invitations from pretty ladies. Chivalry! Or some shit.
When his hands touch the rifle, though it is with a definite attitude of respect. The Marines find everything and everyone disposable, and this came from a time when, yeah, nothing was mass-produced or expendable. There's a lot to respect. ]
no subject
[He isn't wrong. This particular gun is an expensive long arm to manufacture, but its ability to maintain startlingly accurate rapid fire is what makes the production worth the cost. It has seen a number of wars, and to her knowledge it will see many more before the mid-century.
That aside, she trusts Frank's knowledge of and respect for weaponry or she wouldn't have offered to let him touch it in the first place.]
It cocks on the closing stroke of the bolt, so it has to be turned down completely - my father told me they made it that way to make chambering imperfect ammunition easier in the field.
[She slides one of the detachable magasines across the table.]
You can shoot it, if you like.
no subject
I know what it is. [He's just mostly seen them in museums.
He holds it up to his shoulder, sighting down the barrel, before handing it over. ]
Lady's gun. Lady should shoot.
no subject
He inspects the rifle with the deft ease of someone all-too familiar with high-powered weaponry and Evelyn won't argue if he refuses to take a shot with the thing. Judging by his commentary about its age he might assume the thing would go up in his face as soon as the bolt drew back.]
I will, thank you.
[She says crisply, retrieving the magasine and snapping it into place swiftly, efficiently. The last time she used this rifle in combat she hadn't the luxury of taking extensive loading time. Stepping behind the table she settles the butt against her shoulder, sighting down the length of the barrel to the targets at the other end of the field, leaning her cheek against the stock to maintain the line.
Upon exhale Evelyn executes the ten-round version of a mad minute: the bolt is palmed smoothly with every casing that springs from the gun immediately following firing, quick enough that the crack of each shot runs into the next one until the magasine is empty. The deafening silence that follows when she lowers the rifle to look down the range again portends successful patterning and a trained aim.
Evelyn says nothing. She just looks at him.]