A Solid Conclusion

Weird anxiety.  Weird, baseless anxiety from this new schedule, this new, weird life, my parents calling me from Florida, happy and having salmon, my room is more clean than it needs to be cleaned.  I look around and don’t feel the pull of procrastination and other, disappointing uses of delaying tactics.

I just need to write and I feel like I want to jump out of my skin.  Is it the caffeine in that iced tea I drank this afternoon – or all the exercise – or something else?

Regardless.  GIRL.  You gotta take a chill pill.

So this scene that I can’t write because I am still, another hour later, all tension and distraction because this is my moment…it’s on my mind, but I gotta excavate it somehow.  This is my qualified writing time and I’m not knuckling down – I’m watching Comedians Getting Cars and worrying about this nothingness.  It’s not nothingness, it’s legitimate stuff, but it’s not worth ratcheting myself up to 11 over.

A bitch gotta get shit done.

OR as I typed it: A bitch goddaget shit done.

….

The scene starts with Amelia exiting onto the street with Jean in tow.   She’s clutching at her arm and at this bizarre hieroglyphic that has been inked there against her knowledge.   She goes back to the event in her mind, evaluating the blood and the burn it left on her skin, again watching the Professor disappear before her eyes inexplicably.  This time, however,  she pays attention to her cohorts, and notices Shelburne in the corner and thinks he might be of some assistance into figuring this all out.  He has some basic knowledge of hieroglyphics and Egyptology – he’s a scholar and was closer than any of the others, herself included, with Willoughby and the Professor.  She also remembers their final conversation where he seemed deeply disturbed by the loss of his friend and the forces that somehow the Professor had unleashed.   What was he tasked with tracking down before the murder, had he found any unexpected marks on his person…she needed to know, but there was also the matter of following up with Carlisle.  His ship that M. Atanasova said he was aiming to book passage on –  the Castellano – had a regular route to the Continent and sailed around Portugal and stopped in Venice before returning to London. She knew the harbor schedule as readily as she knew the alphabet.  If he was sailing out on that ship, there were two days remaining before it embarked again.   If he had already settled with his lover, he still had two days to hunt through the city.  She knew she both needed to talk to Carlisle and needed to stay as far away from him as possible.  In her mind she begins to formulate a failsafe plan if he threatens her or the kaleidoscope.

Thinking.

She realizes that Jean is in danger by serving her now that he knows what she looks like and that there is too much work to be done in the shadows over the next two days to bother worrying about propriety.  From here, she essentially attempts to Jean who looks completely sick over it, but then she sees the markings on her arm and makes a scene in the street…

 

Okay, that actually helped.  I can do this.  Part of this.  Maybe.  Bath and then like a spot of work tomorrow afternoon.  I don’t have to be at work until noon, this is not goddamn right, but we’re doing it.

 

 

 

 

 

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