PTG: This is a historic document. Why is this a historic document?
Because, for the first time EVER, I'm posting a story when I haven't even
finished the next chapter. So not like me. . . .
Anyway: origin. This poem was inspired by Robert Browning's "The Last Duchess." We wrote an essay on it in English class, and I liked the back story I came up with so much, I made it into a real story. The differences are the names (I came up with them) and the majority of the plot (ditto case.). (I say inspired for a reason: doesn't directly follow the plot of "The Last Duchess.")
Also, how does one get Italics onto this site? I keep trying, but the computer keeps laughing at my feeble attempts and then ignoring them. I want to smite it.
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It was two weeks off the Day of the Dead, and the Lord Orlandi was holding a feast.
The Lord Orlandi's celebrations were never small affairs. A single dinner could last a day or more, to say nothing of the harvest festivals. This one was relatively small: only half the night long. It had no set purpose: the Lord Orlandi didn't need to have a reason to hold a feast. He didn't need to have a reason for anything.
Over a hundred nobles were invited, and all those who could, came. Those who couldn't come sent emissaries, because to refuse would be an insult, and the Lord Orlandi was not one to be insulted. He was a powerful ally, and a less-than-desirable enemy.
The day of the feast more than a hundred carriages arrived. Not all at once; their coming was staggered, sometimes by accident as the carriages arrived at different times, and sometimes on purpose, as when two or three would come to the gates at once. At such times, the servants would hold back the carriages in order of arrival, and let them in one at a time, to be dealt with by the house servants separately.
Once inside the manse, lords and ladies, nobles and emissaries would be escorted to the dining hall. In this place they would be seated. The dinner would commence at six, and until then the nobles trickled in by ones and twos. After the dinner, the great doors behind the table would be opened, to reveal the long tables with desserts set out on the lawn. The nobles would be free to mingle and talk, commenting on the weather and the generosity of their host.
Six o'clock approached. Most of the nobles had long been seated, but had stood, and gathered in groups. There was only one subject on their minds: where was Orlandi? Etiquette demanded that the Lord be here by now; yet he remained conspicuously absent. The servants, mindful of the time, flitted from group to group, quietly ushering the nobles into their seats. They would answer no questions, asserting that the Lord would surely arrive soon. The drive was empty, the carriages gone. Nobles sat at their seats around the table, and a wind of whispers descended on the table. There were only five minutes left, now four, now three. Would the Lord be late to his own celebration?
Now two. The seat was yet empty. A noble coughed, breaking the silence. Some of the others glared at him, and a lady giggled nervously, then flushed at her lack of discipline. Now one. Where was Orlandi?
The clock struck six.
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PTG: Alright, yeah, a bit scrawly, a bit pompous. The second is on purpose: I tried for pompous because of the Lords and Ladies. Orlandi, well, you'll see more of Orlandi quite, quite soon.
Heh heh heh. . .
Hope you enjoy!
Anyway: origin. This poem was inspired by Robert Browning's "The Last Duchess." We wrote an essay on it in English class, and I liked the back story I came up with so much, I made it into a real story. The differences are the names (I came up with them) and the majority of the plot (ditto case.). (I say inspired for a reason: doesn't directly follow the plot of "The Last Duchess.")
Also, how does one get Italics onto this site? I keep trying, but the computer keeps laughing at my feeble attempts and then ignoring them. I want to smite it.
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~
It was two weeks off the Day of the Dead, and the Lord Orlandi was holding a feast.
The Lord Orlandi's celebrations were never small affairs. A single dinner could last a day or more, to say nothing of the harvest festivals. This one was relatively small: only half the night long. It had no set purpose: the Lord Orlandi didn't need to have a reason to hold a feast. He didn't need to have a reason for anything.
Over a hundred nobles were invited, and all those who could, came. Those who couldn't come sent emissaries, because to refuse would be an insult, and the Lord Orlandi was not one to be insulted. He was a powerful ally, and a less-than-desirable enemy.
The day of the feast more than a hundred carriages arrived. Not all at once; their coming was staggered, sometimes by accident as the carriages arrived at different times, and sometimes on purpose, as when two or three would come to the gates at once. At such times, the servants would hold back the carriages in order of arrival, and let them in one at a time, to be dealt with by the house servants separately.
Once inside the manse, lords and ladies, nobles and emissaries would be escorted to the dining hall. In this place they would be seated. The dinner would commence at six, and until then the nobles trickled in by ones and twos. After the dinner, the great doors behind the table would be opened, to reveal the long tables with desserts set out on the lawn. The nobles would be free to mingle and talk, commenting on the weather and the generosity of their host.
Six o'clock approached. Most of the nobles had long been seated, but had stood, and gathered in groups. There was only one subject on their minds: where was Orlandi? Etiquette demanded that the Lord be here by now; yet he remained conspicuously absent. The servants, mindful of the time, flitted from group to group, quietly ushering the nobles into their seats. They would answer no questions, asserting that the Lord would surely arrive soon. The drive was empty, the carriages gone. Nobles sat at their seats around the table, and a wind of whispers descended on the table. There were only five minutes left, now four, now three. Would the Lord be late to his own celebration?
Now two. The seat was yet empty. A noble coughed, breaking the silence. Some of the others glared at him, and a lady giggled nervously, then flushed at her lack of discipline. Now one. Where was Orlandi?
The clock struck six.
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~
PTG: Alright, yeah, a bit scrawly, a bit pompous. The second is on purpose: I tried for pompous because of the Lords and Ladies. Orlandi, well, you'll see more of Orlandi quite, quite soon.
Heh heh heh. . .
Hope you enjoy!