 |
| now who do you think. get real. |
She does not give a first name. 2:6 times she is alone, otherwise accompanied by 3d6 of her husbands. Her father, Jules-Joseph Colette, was married to his men. after his death she inherited 600 gold francs and those 36 marriages, of which she retains 35.
she is a brilliant writer, an erratic but unconcerned strategist and swordswoman, a magnetic, stubbornly oblivious, leader.
a woman running away from herself, of limited unselfishness and half-hearted generosity, with a sensuality whose eyes, thank God, are always bigger than its belly. she loves gold. her friends, husbands, and lovers are all younger than she; she instinctively acquires and stores up what looks to outlast her. though sometimes she pretends otherwise, because it is convenient, humble, and false, death does not concern her, not even her own. instead, she fears age, mediocrity, being understood, and being thought to fear those things. she abhors sincerity.
Colette prefers animals to people, though she denies this. she can speak to them, for her tongue is a still-green leaf from the fig tree of Beauty, and can be caught whispering and cooing to nearly any creature, though this causes her great embarrassment, particularly if the creature is something like a jellyfish or an ant.
With a drop of her blood, she may conjure up a cat in a place where no cat exists. she has a great many, large and small, including a married pair of lions and three tigers, inside her from the clearing of vessels and hiding places.
she’s in love with Monsieur X, who won’t love her unless she marries him, which she won’t, and divorced from the Idiot.
 |
| idk anything abt jack barnes if he's bad don't blame me |
little stone huts, cool and damp and mossy. the namesake flowers mark and line the little roads. windows open, curtains sway soft and pale and light, streaked with tobacco stains. radio tower in the middle of the village, trees clearcut around it. bristling and hostile and spearlike as a ufo landing.
everyone here does accounts for the offshore Red Gold tobacco company. they work in their sleep, since gilded green waking days on the island are too beautiful to waste. they smoke in their sleep too, endless cartons of company cigarettes delivered by parachuted crate along with their paychecks each month. They’d all rather not smoke, but when you’re sleeping you can’t help yourself.
Every house has a radio in it; at night, every radio is turned on to a low, dreary recitation of figures and data in need of organizing
Everyone in the village has a unique nighttime ritual to induce sleepwalking. They listen to Caruso before bed. They do a headstand till they black out, they drink milk, honey and hot pepper, they sleep with a green and threadbare dragon, etc.
This is where Colette's mother, the Widow, lives.
 |
| no prizes for getting this one |
Everyone she marries invariably, after a week, dies by some means or another. Because the deaths are always incidental, she’s the village executioner, since otherwise someone else would have to commit the sin of murder and everyone there’s a good christian in a charitable and unassuming kind of way.
People only ever sin while sleeping here; waking life is too simple and pleasurable for causing harm. the criminals are always as horrified as their victims upon waking, and invariably turn themselves in. Every crime has the death penalty, but only because the guilty are always so torn up about their wrongdoings that they used to commit suicide anyway, and that was two sins for the cost of one.
The Widow is heartbroken about this. she’d married Jules-Joseph Colette after he’d sinned by sleeping with her while she was married to an embezzler, and then killing the embezzler when he discovered them. really, they both sinned, but if they convicted the Widow they’d need a new executioner and nobody wanted that. Jules-Joseph was the only one who didn’t die after a week and she was so happy. but then it turned out he was already married to 36 zouves and vagabonds and his shame and guilt were too much and he killed himself
now him and his-shot-off-face and his army jacket and his fingers jammed full of 36 wedding rings roam around and drip boiling caustic tears, snot and blood all over any happy union.
if you’re single, he’ll seek solace with you and try to cry on your shoulder. endure the pain for long enough and he’ll squelch a wedding ring off his soft red fingers and press it into your palm.
you don’t get to know this: if it is presented to another, and accepted in an earnest marriage vow, the one who accepted it instantly falls hopelessly and eventually fatally in love with Jules-Joseph
He'll appear in bathrooms, closets, from behind trees, wherever. He doesn’t defend himself but any time you hit him he squirts 1d4 jets of boiling acid blood everywhere.
 |
| i said no prizes!!!!!!!!! |
Comments
Post a Comment