Darktober 7

Darktober 7

"... Mz. Collins (she rather coolly corrected me when I called her Mrs. Stoddard-Collins) told me I'd be living up on the third floor, in the "attic room". "I hope that's acceptable," she said, "the name is a bit ominous, I know, but I promise it's comfortable."

"I don't mind! It sounds lovely." I said, very sincerely. After all the shared bedrooms, rundown houses and sketchy, cheap studio apartments I've lived in (and also shared), a spooky attic sounded rather wholesome.

Right then, we all heard the sound of old hinges creaking as the double doors were cracked open.

"Oh, there you are! I was just about to mention you." Mz. Collins said. She was smiling, but there was concern furrowing her brow. "Victoria, this is David. David, this is Victoria Winters, your new tutor. She'll start teaching you on Monday."

I turned, ready to greet the wide-eyed little boy I'd been told I was going to teach (and nanny, but I noticed that Mz. Collins had left that part out). Instead, I met a pair of large, glinting brown eyes that stared at me unblinkingly - not filled with nervousness at meeting a stranger, but genuine, decidedly violent hostility. His wild blonde hair was tangled and full of leaves and twigs, his clothes covered in dust and dirt, torn in a few places. Clearly, he'd been running wild in the woods all day. How appropriate, given how much he reminded me of trickster fairies from European mythology - the ones who are just as likely to stab you as help you.

"Hi, David." I said, pasting a well-trained friendly smile on my face. "It's nice to meet you."

He stayed silent. If anything, his expression became even more hostile.

"David." Mz. Collins spoke quietly behind me. "Say hello, at least."

David's mouth twisted slightly, and he looked down at his shoes. He clearly wasn't happy to meet me, but he wasn't going to say no to his aunt. "Hi." he muttered, word barely perceptible. And with that, he disappeared, running up the stairs in the foyer.

Mz. Collins sighed. "David is a good boy." she said. "I promise."

My very favorite Rumiko Takahashi panel.

Darktober 5

"Collinwood is nothing like I expected either. I read "estate" and "mansion" and I honestly pictured those giant modern McMansion monstrosities rich people are building all the time.

Collinwood is nothing like that. This place *is* huge, but it's huge in the way ancient castles are huge - like there was an actual purpose for all that space when it was built. There's the servant's quarters, the stables, the carriage house, the BALLROOM, everything a rich old European colonial family needed. Well. "Needed".

"We don't use even half of this place" Bridget said, sighing. "Too much work, not enough people. We only live in this little part over here these days." She nodded towards the sixth of the house we were approaching.

"What about the rest of the house?" I asked.

"Empty. Some places..." she glanced over at the unoccupied sections of the mansion.

It's strange, how welcoming the tiny little part of the house that was lit up looked, and how dark and definitely haunted the rest of the same house looked.

"Some places in this house haven't seen a human in centuries." Bridget said."

There are a lot of posts about SoCal skater fashion, I figured it would be fun to show some Glasgow skater. Even though I'm from California. But like. I learned to skate in Glasgow. So.

Currently cold, windy, and alternating between wet or icy. Skating is fun, with an added thrill of serious bodily harm.

Darktober 8

"... The attic room is, as Mz. Collins promised, very comfortable. It might just be the most comfortable room I've ever slept in, actually.

Granted, my basis for comparison is negligible, to say the least. But I dare anyone to say a big bed, fresh sheets and blankets, a clean new rug and a view of the ocean isn't cozy.

Of course, I'm writing all this as I'm struggling to fall asleep in this wonderfully comfy, fresh-smelling bed with the window looking out over the ocean beside me.

The attic doesn't scare me. Old rooms, new places, living with strangers, none of that has scared me since... I don't actually remember a time when I was ever scared of those things.

No, there's something else. I can't say what it is, exactly. It feels like... There's something waiting. A person, an event, I don't know. But there's a sense of hiding, waiting, in the air. And if I blink, much less fall asleep, I'm going to miss it.

Or it's going to get me."

Looking at my profile, it looks like pretty much every single thing I've posted has been a drawing of me. :| Doesn't reflect terribly well on me, does it. I guess I find drawing myself a good way to settle back into my process, especially after a long break. I know what I look like, I can make me look as stupid as I want, it's easy peasy. Thus: the Gallery of Laura's Self Portraits.

Anyways, this one was fun because I try to present myself in my art as the person I really am: fairly nice (or trying to be), smiley, easily embarrassed, etc. But my actual real face was gifted to me by my distant stoic Neanderthal ancestors and so I look like I'm a hitman zeroing in on my next target, which happens to be whoever looks at me and makes eye contact. I swear it's just my eyebrows. They're tough b*tch eyebrows. I really don't deserve them.

On the plus side, they did protect me from bullying when I was a kid. That, and being the tallest kid in class until high school. Again: I did nothing to deserve it. People terrified me, and I cried *constantly*.