Chapter One
Chapter One
Word Count: 5,587
Ah, chapter one 
A very long chapter at that :O Hopefully the other chapters will not be as… dreadful as this O___O Enjoy it for now and be awaiting chapter two in the upcoming week! ^_^
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Chapter One
I don’t care who you are, I don’t care what you do, but I am not someone to be overlooked.
I know well who I am. I am the daughter of a nobleman and I reside in an extravagant mansion. I possess a staff to command at my disposal and I am well respected by the many I pass in the streets. Yet when I find myself in the presence of others within my status they seem to fail to acknowledge me. They do not recognize my equality with them and they fail to take notice of my diligence. The only thing keeping me from sinking beneath the waters of insignificance is my father. Everyone knows his name and everyone can identify his face. My father is considered to be an economic genius, a prodigy of sorts, and there is no way I can deny that fact. The man was born to be successful. But I am his daughter. I am born of his blood and I too am destined to inherit greatness. Yet still I remain without profit. Where is my share of the grand rewards? He remains so high and mighty while I have yet to begin my rise to success. All my attempts to rise have been stifled by that man. None of his interest has been placed in my well being and I remain distant from my objectives. I am better than this and I do not need to accept this.
I am Viola Maslov, I am somebody, and damn it I will not go unnoticed.
“Viola, can I come in?” a voice called to me suddenly from beyond my bedroom door, startling my thoughts and pulling my mind back to reality. I had nearly forgotten I was in the middle of getting dressed for the morning. I had chosen my wardrobe carefully today to suit my purpose. My dress was selected for its presentation. It was a tedious thing to get myself into, but it served my intentions well. It retained a sense of simplicity while also emanating extravagance. And then its color… it was brilliant. The color was a crimson shade that did not appear too dark, yet also avoided appearing too shocking. It exhibited boldness and gave me a sense of courage, both desirable qualities I required for my agenda.
I had also been certain to select an appropriate garment for my head, though I was not as finicky with this particular detail. I had my wardrobe explicitly designed to possess specific hats for specific gowns. I figured that selecting a detail as small as the hat should not come as a nuisance to be. So, once I had selected my dress of choice, its corresponding hat became clear. Thus I came to wear the black one. This hat, just as the dress, possessed a look of simplicity while serving its purpose effectively. A perfect match, I believed.
Now I was left to one last article of clothing. It was a flimsy piece of fabric, tattered and discolored with age, but I wore it no less. The item held its importance to me and, whether or not it supported the simplistic boldness of the rest of my outfit, the fabric would be finding its rightful place around my neck.
“Enter,” I called back to my addressor listlessly as I redirected my attention to completing the knot in the scarf.
“Ah, good morning, Viola,” the voice greeted me again, welcoming herself inside with her usual morning smile spread across her face. “Are you just about ready?”
“Hardly,” I rolled my eyes, fidgeting with the knot, attempting to reach perfection in it. The girl who entered was none other than Kathryn Glenda. She was a peasant girl hired on behalf of my father to work as a maid in our home and to watch over and accompany me in order to keep me from bothering him ever so frequently. In a sense I was thankful for his decision to bestow a companion upon me, though I couldn’t help but feel slandered by the act. It just gave him one more way to avoid me more than he already did. Still, I was happy for Kathryn’s residence. Some days her cheer would be just what I need to be uplifted from a state of melancholy. For that, I could be thankful. “I am currently in a state of mighty hunger. Have Erin set breakfast on the table, I will be down shortly.”
“Why, she has already set it,” she grinned, rocking on her heels. “We are only waiting for you to arrive.”
“Ah, all right then,” I nodded, giving up on the perfecting of the knot and making my way for the door. “Let’s go eat, shall we?”
“Yes ma’am,” she beamed, bowing slightly, and speedily made her way for the stairs.
“You’re awfully, excited this morning,” I noted skeptically. “Quite unusually excited… what has you so deliriously joyful?”
She began to open her mouth to speak, but another voice came forth.
“Kathryn, civilize yourself,” the voice commanded, and almost immediately Kathryn’s cheerful disposition retreated within her and I felt as if I were suddenly left in a room void of life.
“Good morning, Marianne,” I greeted her bleakly, continuing my journey down the stairs to meet the woman standing at the bottom. She was yet another familiar face, Marianne Millard. Like Kathryn, she too was hired to watch me, though her methods were much different. Kathryn provided a friendly atmosphere wherever she traveled and kept me company in times of loneliness. Marianne, on the other hand, was much colder. As opposed to acting as a friend or a motherly figure toward me, she treated me with aversion and tartness. Since I lacked a place in public education, it was her duty to teach me lessons. And when she would not be educating me with petty information about the world’s occurrences she would act as a chaperone wherever I traveled. I could hardly set foot into the outdoors without the familiar sound of her shoes tapping after me. Though she retained approval with my father, she fell quite short of impressing me.
“Are you ready to leave?” she asked me, in an equally acidic tone, something to be expected from the woman, I suppose.
“I have a stomach, mind you,” I declined, passing her indifferently, not caring about a word she had to say. I only had one thing on my mind and it was on my dining room table as well.
“Ah, good morning, miss,” a cheerful voice greeted me, lifting my spirit and allowing Kathryn to revert to her relaxed self. “You enjoy pancakes, yes?”
“Very much,” I grinned, sitting down at my seat and sampling the meal. As always, it was a magnificent creation. “Congratulations Erin, you’ve outdone yourself again.”
“Ah, it is nothing, really,” she blushed triumphantly. It seemed to be a hobby of hers, to cook to please. Her smiles were so contagious and it didn’t surprise me in the slightest to discover that she was the mother of Kathryn. They seemed like replicas of each other. Their hair was the same shade of fiery red, their eyes both the same shade of green, and even their faces were equally speckled with freckles. It was a mother daughter image I wish I could have shared with my own mother, but I looked little like her. Erin insisted I had my mother’s nose, but I couldn’t be sure. It’s just a nose, after all. People look to hair and eyes as a more reliable identification and, to my discontent, I took after my father.
“Where is my father?” I asked, addressing no one in particular, but yearning for an answer. I could hardly recall the last time we ate in the same company, yet I suppose I wouldn’t want to anyway. The intensity would be so severe I would most likely lose the ability to eat. Still… his growing negligence continued to eat at my patience.
“Alexander is preparing for his duel,” Erin answered me, replenishing my half empty glass of milk. “You will be going to see him shortly, yes?”
“Ah, that’s right…” I muttered, chewing irritably on another piece of the pancake. “I can’t believe I’ve already forgotten his agenda. This duel is important to him, yes?”
“Every duel holds its importance,” Marianne announced, her tone possessing a lecturing quality to it that immediately turned me off to whatever point she wanted to make. “Each duel provides its own valuable opportunity to gain fortune for the Maslov family. To him, this fight proves to be just another day. However, indeed, he has much to gain here. If he is successful, he will rank amongst the most elite in all of England.”
“Shouldn’t you be just the slightest bit excited for this event?” Kathryn asked in encouragement, sticking her fork into her own pancake. “I mean, you are about to become the daughter of the most famous man in all of England.”
“I am already the daughter of one of the most famed men in England and one of the most prosperous at that. Why would I be inclined to see him ascend to a greater fame? What is to come of it for me?”
I channeled my fury into the force I applied on the pancake and the result was the loud sound of fork teeth grating against china.
“Viola, that china is precious,” Marianne warned me, glaring at my action, “Do not allow yourself to scratch it so viciously.”
“Of course,” I muttered, callously, and finished the meal swiftly with one last swig of milk. “I think we’re done here. Let us be on our way.”
“Ah, good,” Kathryn beamed, rising from her seat and journeying off to the entrance hall. “Bye, mother. We’ll be back before dinner.”
“Have a good time, you three,” Erin beamed at us, waving a final goodbye and then directing her attention to the dishes at the table.
Three… how I wish so much that there was no need for three. Just a trip into town with Kathryn would have satisfied my boredom. That third person simply hangs like a cold breeze over my head. I want it gone. Even Erin would have been a tolerable replacement. Still, perhaps her cheer would prove to be too intense for my dull outlook. Then again… let it be anyone but monotonous Marianne.
“Walk faster,” Marianne muttered, and I almost had difficulty matching her stride to keep up. She was tense now, I could tell, and, after being around the woman for so many years, I could clearly see why, and it made me happy. Oh yes, it nearly made me smile.
“Well, I did suggest hailing a vehicle.” I grinned slyly. “You told me a while ago not to allow you to do this again… and yet here we are… walking again… walking amongst them… walking amongst the—”
“Shush, you,” she snapped, but declined to offer anything in defense of her actions.
Yes, in an effort to give me an opportunity to breathe the air of the outdoors, Marianne found it unfit to be driven to the duel and was instead intent on having me walk the distance. This plan, however, backfired as it always had upon receiving the reminder that walking the entire distance would also result in walking through the town square.
The square, and even the side streets around it, found itself crowded with townspeople. With this crowd, the area was deemed infamous for harvesting the impoverished. Those without homes took residence on the cobblestone streets and many took advantage of their talents to make a living. Venders were stationed around every corner offering to shine your shoes, or to sharpen your weapons, or to offer you artifacts from far off lands. And then there was the music. Ah yes, the music. The sound of their melodies was worth the walk all by itself. Unlike the serene, often times lackluster music of the upper class music selections, the peasants of the town square gave birth to scores filled with energy and optimism. Heavenly songs about conquest and triumph filled the air and it filled my soul as well.
Though the music and the festive apparel of the place was superb on its own, Marianne’s anxiety was icing on the cake. With every turn of her head and each sight of beggars, her revulsion seemed to climb.
“These filthy people are disgusting,” she muttered lowly, not quite speaking to Kathryn or myself, but simply aloud, wanting her opinion to be heard.
“Well, what would you do if you were unable to afford water to draw a bath?” I shrugged, continuing to absorb the wonderful sights the townspeople had to offer.
“I would throw myself into the lake,” she sneered, slightly quickening her steps.
“You can swim?” I raised an eyebrow at this. Swimming was never something that the upper class never bothered to learn. What purpose would such knowledge serve? It is not as if we swim in ponds in our free time. Not when we can drink tea and sample pastries.
“I mean to say that I would much rather drown,” she muttered darkly and continued trudging forward.
I sighed, but did not allow her negativity to chase the smile from my face. This was something Marianne was renowned for. I had spent many days attempting to uncover the roots of her hatred of those socially beneath her, but I have yet to completely find the answer. I supposed it was just a trait she received from the methods by which she was raised. She was raised avoiding the poor, so now she would detest them with all her might.
To an extent, I could understand her dislike of the poor. It was not that I approved of it, but simply that it is a trait that seemed to be prevalent in all nobles I made contact with. None of the clients my father spoke with were ever poor and all the men within his party slandered the impoverished frequently. The hatred was common, and, though I did not appreciate its constant presence, I could bear to overlook it now. But I had a lesser tolerance for her hatred of the backgrounds of people, regardless of social status.
It was a detail about her that I had not known before I saw her interact with Erin and Kathryn. Before they came to serve the Maslov family, the Glenda’s were a poor family raising crops in Ireland. Tragedy had befallen their family though and thus they came to England in search of a better living than the life as they knew it. Of course, what with their links to poverty, Marianne disliked their presence. Still, I observed that she hated the Glenda’s with much more severity than any other poor man I had seen her interact with. Eventually, once all the details had sunk in, I determined that Marianne despised the Irish. I was often confused on why she would hate the Irish so persistently, but taking a note of another hatred of hers helped me understand much about her dislike of so many people.
The root of her revulsion seemed to begin with demons.
“Kathryn!” Marianne snapped at her. Kathryn was glancing at the stand of an artisan who had a multitude of his paintings on display. She seemed to be very taken with the pieces, though she quickly regrouped with us at the sound of Marianne’s fury. “Stop wasting time. We are not here to browse the merchandise. We must hasten our pace if we wish to view the duel on time.”
“I apologize,” she bowed her head slightly, “but you must admit the talent of these artisans is astonishing. Their depictions of distant lands never cease to fascinate me, and the images of home are all so uplifting.”
“Those people are in an English city,” she muttered. “If they plan to take residence in my streets, they ought to take on an English style of everyday living or create works of an Englishman, not these images of lesser places. They should leave behind the failures of their homeland or disappear from our pure land of England.”
Kathryn frowned and spoke nothing to this, walking silently beside us. This was custom to her now. When Marianne would insult her for her origins, Kathryn used to often argue with her furiously. However, after realizing the futility and consequences of defying the authority of Marianne, she ceased defending herself. It saved her the time of punishment, anyway. Still, my emotions were just slightly harder to control.
“They are people too you know.” I argued, crossing my arms across my chest. “They’ve proved it to be true, and you have to accept that fact whether it pleases you or not.”
“The demons?” she sneered, her frown becoming more severe. “They are hardly human, and all those immigrants have dealt with them, I know it. It is the devil’s presence on our earth and we must not mingle with it.”
“I’ve done no deed for the devil,” Kathryn snapped, but quickly silenced herself when struck by Marianne’s glare.
“Explain to me this then, Viola,” Marianne began, regaining much composure in an attempt to retain a respective aura. “If these demons are truly human, why do they differ so drastically from the pure? They tower above us in height and possess unnatural strengths, strengths only possible by reception from the devil himself. And their eyes… Viola, their eyes! That crimson color they bear is a mark of their creator. It is clear, is it not? Those things you call ‘people’ are children of hell.”
I shook my head with aggravation, making sure not to allow her to see me do so. If she were to see my defiance, she would only begin to lecture me on how the demons were sent onto earth to end humanity, and I was hardly in the mood for another one of her sermons.
Her hatred for these people may seem blind and heartless, but, had I made my defense for demons as little as ten years ago, I would be the one accused of insanity. Demons, as explained by Marianne, were, not things of myth, but very real individuals assumed to be spawns of the devil. In fact, at first glance, it is not too far of a stretch to immediately assume that to be the truth. Demons were always thought to be evil and were exiled, hung, burned, and shunned wherever they turned up. No one wanted anything to do with them, and no one believed them to have any human rights. They were monsters, and they were to be avoided.
However, in recent years, this outlook has begun to change. Many people saw moral qualities with the alleged demons that anyone would assume no devil could possess. They expressed remorse, they displayed forgiveness, they had families, and they had concerns. People began to wonder, “are these beings truly descendents of the devil?” Experts turned to sciences once unattainable for the answer to the question and their results shocked the world. Scientists explained that the beings were certainly humans. What made them different, they explained, was a series of problems they called “mutations”. It meant they were created the same way as any other human, but something would go horribly wrong in the time the child develops and it would result in the demonic attributes we all knew them for as well as numerous other complications that were not known prior to study. The public learned that the people we called demons were prone to disease and death would come quickly. Their life span was slight and they hardly lived to see their fortieth year.
Upon discovering that demons were not the devils we had thought them to be, many took sympathy on them, in particularly the Irish. Demon’s, as a result of the banishment we had put them through in England, were mostly gathered in France, though they also mingled in the environs of Ireland. This tolerance that the Irish offered led the land to become renowned for its equality as it also led to Marianne’s hatred of the Irish. She could never make herself believe the men of science. All she had ever known growing up was that those with red eyes were not to be trusted. To this day, she is intent to keep her beliefs.
“I mean it Viola,” Marianne said to me sternly, yet still avoiding eye contact. “Stay away from those people.”
“They are human,” I murmured with no hope of convincing her, but I simply could not allow myself to allow her to dictate my opinions. “It is a matter of fact I plan to stick to. Let’s not argue over this. We’re already both in a horrible mood.”
“Right,” she rolled her eyes and continued leading the way. We were finally beginning to leave the square and the stadium was coming into view.
“Your father is mighty good with the sword,” Kathryn said to me suddenly as we drew closer to the arena. “He could take on all of England and come out on top.”
“Please don’t flatter him,” I groaned. “He’s hardly that good… well…” I paused a moment and amended my statement. “No, he’s good. Great even. I’ll give him that. But he is far from the best. It just happens that the opponents he faces tend to be less talented with the sword. He knows them all well, carefully selecting those he knows he can defeat, and passing over those he sees as potentially stronger. It’s a smart thing for him to do. By selecting his opponents this way he has nothing to lose and everything to gain. But no… he’s not the best. He couldn’t be.”
“Well, seeing as how he is so good, why is it that he is being challenged by this man?” Kathryn asked, puzzled. “The fellow would be well aware that the odds of winning are in your father’s favor, yes?”
“He might,” I shrugged. “He might not. But my father certainly has ways of coaxing his enemies to do battle. Everyone can be made to lose their composure to fury and emotion. Whether it be with a word, a subject, a person, or an event, everyone snaps at something. Father just possesses the talent of uncovering people’s dislikes and has ways of infuriating them with their own personal misfortunes. And when people succumb to their emotions… that is when they are most malleable.”
“My, he has quite a head on his shoulders,” Kathryn noted, absorbing this new information. “And you’re his daughter, so that means you’ve inherited his intellect as well.”
“For the sake of my morals, I pray it not be so,” I said lowly.
And there our conversation ended. We had arrived at the stadium and shoved through the crowd to gain entrance. People were always gathered around the stadium on days of duels. These were people who could not afford to enter and gamblers. They would wait patiently during the course of the fight, placing bets, making predictions, and passing time while awaiting the results. Once the fight was over, the spectators who observed the action would reveal the winner and much rejoicing would occur for the successful gamblers.
I wondered slightly why there were so many people gathered here. It was a battle with my father. In theory, no one would want to wage a bet in favor of the opposition. Still, this man who waged battle with him was supposedly strong. Many seemed convinced that he had a chance. Still, I know my father. He wouldn’t be doing this if he was not certain he would leave the arena victorious.
As soon as we found our way into the upper class seating area, we sat patiently in wait for my father to emerge. His match was designated to be the last match of the day. It was a wise decision on behalf of the planner, of course; no one would dare leave the stadium knowing a duel with Alexander Maslov would be occurring shortly. Still, I was not particularly interested in the other fights. Seven duels preceded my father’s and, though Kathryn and the audience were brimming with excitement, I couldn’t help but remain discontented. I felt myself dozing off at times, but Marianne kept nudging me every time I neared unconsciousness.
Finally, some time after the seventh battle ended, Kathryn tugged at my sleeve and beamed eagerly.
“Hey, Viola, look! There he is!” she pointed excitedly down at the arena, successfully reviving my interest and ending my desire to sleep.
I rose slightly and leaned forward to get a better view of him. He was quite a sight. Dressed from head to toe for battle and brimming with confidence. Then again, what else is new? The man always dresses for victory. Nothing particularly shocking about him.
And then I saw his opponent. Up until now, I had little knowledge of who had dared to challenge my father to battle. Apparently no one thought for a moment that I would be interested in who my father would duel with. In part, that assumption would be correct, but I still possess a slight curiosity about these things that ought to be quenched. Forced to conjure my own image of the fellow, I had assumed it was just another one of his dimwitted associates who had lost his temper and sought to take revenge on my father, a mindless decision of a mostly mindless man. However, the man who held his sword at ready was hardly a mindless man. I knew him to be calculative and thoughtful about his decisions and he was a very cautious person. Whenever I saw him around my father, I could always see him taking note of every decision they made and evaluating each move with precision. He made no mistakes, even the mistake of succumbing to my father’s incredulous offers as most men often did. This man was a potential threat and would never gain my father’s full trust. So then why… why would my father permit battle with this man?
Once my shock of the revelation subsided, I lowered myself back into my seat and watched the arena attentively. My interest was now peaked and I would be sure not to miss this battle.
“Victor Grandmaison…” I murmured in thought. “This couldn’t be right. Father wouldn’t face somebody like that.”
“Grandmaison, you say?” Kathryn asked, with interest. “That name has a familiar sound. He must be quite a prosperous noble. I would suspect your father is intent on winning estate from the man. He has quite a lot to offer, yes?”
“Ah… of course,” I nodded. I was so intent on believing this to be one of his personal battles, I had not bothered to suspect this was simply a battle for each other’s estate.
Estate is simply any amount of land represented by a piece of paper. The more land the paper is entitled to, the more it is worth. As opposed to using coins in economic ventures, the wealthy exclusively made payments in estate. Doing so is the easiest way to distribute money by the thousands and effectively shows you have the wealth and land to spend; that you are thriving and you have no worry. In fact, I had never seen my father touch gold coins. The only time I would ever interact with coined money would be when I would go into the town square with Kathryn or Erin to purchase anything from the common people. Peasants were in most cases forbidden to attain estate as it was commonly believed the poor were not worthy to handle such flourishing land and they were restricted to using gold coins.
Still, simply because an individual boasts a wealth entirely made of coins does not precisely mean that he or she is impoverished. I have encountered my share of people with substantial wealth of gold, and they were well off, but not a single one of these people was a noble. They were somewhere in between; not quite poor, though not at all a noble. In fact, these people had no hope of rising to nobility. In England, people are either born with the estate in their name, or doomed to life without it. No one ever rises from peasantry, and that is a fact yet to be disproved.
In the matter of duels, the two competitors would put up a number of estate to risk in the battle and then fight. The fight would either stop at the conceding of one competitor, or it would continue to the death. Once a winner was declared, the winner would obtain the loser’s estate. Simple as that. Father would often compete in these battles to obtain his foe’s property and, of course, he was always successful. That’s how he harvested such a large inventory of estate.
And now there is this case with Victor Grandmaison. If there was anything for me to remember about him, it was his possession of grand estate. Grand estate was a particular subcategory of estate that was the most sought after. It represented the finest lands in England and I’ve seen its worth up in the millions. Perhaps my father was indeed well aware this man had a chance at overpowering him. Perhaps he knew that success was not imminent. But he knew he wanted that estate, and Alexander Maslov always gets what he wants.
Once the announcer identified the two competitors for the spectators, each receiving a large amount of applause from the audience, they began to fight.
For the first time in a long time, I was tense. For once I was not certain of the outcome. It truly appeared to be anyone’s game. My father was well skilled with the sword and mastered how to use certain maneuvers effectively, but Victor had speed on his side and he was visibly swifter. Still, I could make no judgment. The men appeared to be equally matched.
It wasn’t until several minutes later that the odds began to show themselves. Both men had traded blows from each other and each had their share of cuts. Exhaustion began to find its way into their systems and Victor appeared to be the most affected. I saw him stumbling more often and his reflexes were weakening. I was certain now. No more tension resided within me and my concern declined. Victor Grandmaison would lose by surrendering to save his life and he would be forced to sign his estate over to my father. There was not a doubt in my mind.
Just as I had predicted, Victor fell to his knees and my father was stopped a few feet away from him, prepared to strike, though not allowing himself to carry out the motion. Victor appeared to be saying something, but the noise and distance between us prevented me from hearing any of it. Still, I could assume what he meant. They were words of surrender, triggering my father to lower his sword and the announcer to run out to the arena to declare the winner.
The applause was booming and I lost view of my father as a result of the crowd rising and obstructing my view. I refused to compete with them for a look at the noble winner and I listlessly clapped. The action was done and there was nothing else of interest to keep me here.
“We should be leaving now,” I sighed, rising from my seat and forcing my way through the stand to reach an exit.
“Yes, we ought to go congratulate him,” Kathryn nodded, Marianne following behind.
Congratulating the man was the last thing on my mind, but if it was a liable excuse to get me out of sitting in the stands for another dismal hour waiting for the people to clear, I was willing to accept.
Upon exiting the stadium, I was greeted by an overwhelming surge of voices.
“Maslov wins!”
“Alexander is victorious!”
“Grandmaison defeated!”
“Victor defeated?”
“Maslov remains undefeated!”
“Victor has lost? Surely it is not so!”
“Damn! I was sure he would win.”
“It was an easy bet to establish. I knew I’d win all along!”
A flurry of laughs, cries, yells, and cheers met my ears and my head desired to escape to a quiet place. Somewhere where there was no noise to shatter my ears or violence to threaten my life. Those who had lost their bets were furious and dismal, many looked ready to kill, and I wouldn’t want to be around when one of them snapped.
“Marianne, where are we going?” Kathryn asked, startled that we were distancing ourselves from the stadium as opposed to searching for and praising my father.
“Alexander hardly has the time to meet with us right now,” she explained. “We will congratulate him in a more appropriate hour. For now, we must return home.”
“Fair enough,” I shrugged, glad to momentarily avoid confrontation with my father. She was right anyway. His ego would probably be too inflated at the moment to take notice of us. “Lead the way.”
“Of course,” she nodded and led the way back to our mansion. We remained relatively silent during our journey home, though, upon reentering the town square, her face altered in revulsion and she muttered, “Remind me not to ever allow myself to walk to the stadium again…”
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And that was it O___O Though the chapters are meant to remain void of titles, I have lame titles with each chapter so I know what its about and stuff. This chapter had the working title “Intro to Life”. However, it became a lot less life orientated and more fight orientated. Heh, and fun fact: This chapter was cut short. There was an entire scene planned but I decided to cut it out for the sake of time 
And another fun fact: Grandmaison was initially the last name for Francis. But then I was using Finette, so I lost the need for Grandmaison. I liked the name a lot so I gave it to Alexander’s competitor. Oddly enough though, Grandmaison is a French name. So if Victor were a Frenchman, he technically shouldn’t be as famed as he is. Then again, I see him more as a “man of the people” figure than a selfish business man like the others. He’s just popular ¯(°_o)/¯ (shrug lol). Thanks for reading ^_^ … if you read… O_O
Feel free to leave your comments on what you think. I appreciate feedback
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Steph-fer-bee Said:
on November 6, 2010 at 2:06 pm
BLAH, NICOLE, THAT WAS AWESOME!
I laughed a lot because of all your flourishing adjectives. Normally they would have seemed out of place, but they just sort of flowed right into her character.
And the plot is very interesting, indeed… XD
I like your description too. Like of the Irish Demons and stuff. You seem to be using partially historical and partially fantasy stuff together.. XD very cool.
It’s funny cause our stories are actually similar. Not in plot, but somewhat in characters, and somewhat in setting. I’m excited to read more and EXCITED TO WRITE MORE! Woo! XD
Steph-fer-bee
faces on the laptop ):
^ I can’t make the little
RubyHedgehog Said:
on November 7, 2010 at 3:46 pm
…REALLY? 8D Yay, I’m so happy I succeeded! I’m crying happy tears, see? :’D
I hope it did, because it wasn’t making much sense over here XD And yes history-fantasy hybrid is greatness 
I kinda wish it were just a wee bit more steampunk though >.< I'm a sucker for steampunk XD
lol I apologize for the abundance of adjectives XD It’s just that when you’re trying to write as much as you can, word count comes before comprehension >=D I bet when I re-read it later I’ll hate myself for plaguing it with unnecesary words XD So did the description make sense then?
Oooo similar-ness 8D Then I am even more excited to read yours
Sucks that I'm going to have to wait so long though :O Make haste Staphanie!!!
RubyHedgehog
D: Oh no! You NEED them though!!! … how do you do them anyway? O.o
Steph-fer-bee Said:
on November 7, 2010 at 7:14 pm
YAY!
That’s okay, I totally understand XD
Yes, description made sense xD
NO WORRIES! You do not have to wait any longer!!!
http://www.randompotatoe.wordpress.com
=DDD
Steph-fer-bee
You hit Alt and the number 1 on the number pad. you can’t use the numbers above the keys though. ):
RubyHedgehog Said:
on November 10, 2010 at 7:41 pm
loolol kewl XD Very good, very good
EEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEeeeeEEeEeeeEee!
I read it! \o/ I need moar O___O Feed meh!!! XD
=DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
☺ RubyHedgehog ☺
☺ ☺ ☺ ☺ ☺ WHAT WITCHCRAFT IS THIS!?!?!? :O lolol XD You can’t just copy and paste em? XD
Steph-fer-bee Said:
on November 11, 2010 at 7:08 am
YAY! OKAY! I WILL! Soon.
(I think Im going to fail :[ I don’t have any TIME to write this stuff!)
☺Steph-fer-bee☺
I can XD I was just too lazy to go find a ☺… but now I gots one =DDDD