RP Prompts: Anger

((Huzzah! I’m completely caught up on Lori-letters and RP Prompts. Now everything will be current, within a few days. If I write it, it’ll be posted! Also: Lori’s temper is actually pretty mild, but she’s redirecting anger at someone else onto herself ATM. Don’t worry, she’s perfectly fine. ^_~))

Present Day (July 5)

Loriwen walked into her house and shut the door, leaning against it with a sigh. So many thoughts were running through her mind, but one was at the forefront. She vocalized it in one single word, angry and clear.

Idiot!”

She paced and walked around her table, anger speeding her steps. Yelling her thoughts aloud to herself, her hands flew through the air. “What were you thinking? Argh!” Standing still outside of her office, she looked at the door with an uncharacteristically frustrated expression. “Just because Luke of all people up and left her doesn’t mean Tarlanc will leave you! Ugh! You.. you know him better than that, he’s a good man, a great man, an amazing man. He.. really does love me. He actually loves me. Why would I question that? Especially after the way I acted earlier! Argh!!”

In a rather rare display of anger, Loriwen’s hand shot out. She punched the support beam in front of her, quite hard. She immediately regretted it, pain shooting up her arm and into her mind. “Agh! Great. Now I need to go put it in cold water.” She growled to herself.

She looked around outside, not seeing anyone. The blood was already dripping down her arm, getting into her dark blue outfit. “Now I’ll have to wash this with vinegar. Why can’t I do anything right today?!” She walked down her path toward the quiet river past her road.

Thinking back to her calm and happy swimming session earlier today, it seemed like a different day entirely. She slowly let her hand into the cool river water, wincing as it washed away the blood. “The only thing I’ve done right today was not drown! Idiot, idiot, idiot.” A few minutes later, she pulled out her hand, wrapping it in a clean section of her tunic.

Walking back to her house, up the small hill of her path, she shook her head and examined the damage to her hand. “How am I going to explain this?” Loriwen opened her door and shut it carefully, hoping none of the neighbors saw her. “Oh, sure! That’s easy. What happened? I just punched a wall. Nothing out of the ordinary here! Ugh.”

She opened the door to her study and sat down at the desk, wrapping her hand with a clean cloth. “Great, I’m already bleeding again. What does he see in me?” Shaking her head, already on a tirade, she continued to rant to herself. “Crazy old woman, lives by herself…punches walls, never had anything even remotely resembling a courtship before, still visits her father twice every year, talks to herself… Argh!”

Loriwen stood up and walked over to her bedroom, stopping and putting her forehead against the doorway. She sighed deeply and began to relax, most of the pent up rage and adrenaline having made its way out. Tears began to sting her eyes as she realized how unlike herself she was acting. “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it. I’m a bumbling fool of a person and he loves me in spite of it. No point in questioning someone so…wonderful. Talking about how much of an idiot I am just serves to give voice to things I already know.

She looked to her bed, fond memories of not even three days past filling her mind. Despite all the hidden meaning behind the term “slept together,” all they did was sleep there. Didn’t even kiss, just…slept. It was still the most intimate and romantic thing she’d ever shared with another person. Feeling the last part of her anger subside in the face of such wonderful thoughts, she sighed even deeper, her shoulders visibly slumping. Loriwen crawled into bed: boots, clothes, and all. She didn’t feel like changing, all she wanted to do was lay in bed and pretend he was there with her again. Mumbling to herself, she laid in the same exact position she was then. “I wish I understood why someone like him would fall for someone like me.”

Thinking over the day, as she always did before falling asleep, she was reminded of what he told her to do before they parted not even an hour ago. You will sleep and dream of me, as I will dream of you. A small smile escaping her lips, she closed her eyes and reached for a pillow. Her hand brushed the head rest, causing a hiss of pain and quick retraction as tears began to sting her eyes again. “Damn, why did I do that?” She carefully reached for the pillow, thinking of their conversation. I love you. We are not silly children to speak promises to each other too quickly, but I am going nowhere. Loriwen shook her head and buried it in the pillow, squeezing it close to her body. She spoke one last phrase aloud, her voice barely more than a weary whisper.

“Neither am I.”

RP Prompt: A Letter

July 2

Loriwen extracted herself slowly from her bed, rubbing her already mussed hair. Adjusting her top, she sighed lightly. Walking across her main room to the office, she grabbed a piece of parchment and a piece of charcoal. She didn’t trust herself in her half-hungover state with an ink well. Carefully walking across the room again, she entered her bedchamber and sat on the floor under a window, facing her bed.

She looked into her bed from the floor, a rather new and curious sight laying upon it. Her eyes crinkling with both age and tiredness, Loriwen lazily swept her gaze across the form laying in her bed. Nothing scandalous had happened, not in the slightest. Clothes were kept on; in fact, there wasn’t even really anything at all in terms of action. They both passed out in short order from a combination of ale, emotional exhaustion, and general tiredness. The dance was a wonderful success, many people showing up and dancing under the stars.. and it had done a good job of tiring them both out. A small snore escaped the quite passed out man, and her lips curved into a fond smile.

After a long time, she tore her gaze from him and focused on writing a letter. Constantly looking up to make sure he was still asleep, she slowly and deliberately sketched a letter to the man laying in front of her.

Tarlanc, Gaduren, love.

I’ve come to a decision. One that my upbringing is not entirely comfortable with, but one that I know in my heart is right. I do trust you, even this soon. Utterly, completely. Most I know would raise their eyebrows and near shake me to death, but I don’t care anymore. I’m sitting here, watching you.. and that’s all I care about.

But I will ask a small favor of you: I beg you to wait a little longer. I’ve made a decision for myself, and for what I know my heart wants, but I need to talk to someone first. I’ve a visit to them planned for the morning of my birthday, and once that talk is complete, I will be ready. As you said, I will know: for certain, beyond doubt.

L.

Loriwen re-read the letter what seemed like a dozen times, tearing up a little each time she read the sentence about the visit. She left it vague on purpose, given how stupid it would look if she wrote what she really was doing. Oh, hello. I’m going to go visit my father’s grave and talk to him about this private matter first. Is that okay? She sighed lightly to herself, eventually nodding at the paper. She folded it and put it into its envelope, looking up to watch him as she sealed it. Very quietly tip toeing outside, Loriwen put it in the mail box and tip toed back into her house.

Rubbing her eyes, sleep becoming more important than her worries, she stumbled back into the room. She crawled into her bed, slowly snuggling back up next to him. He involuntarily mumbled something incoherent, his arms wrapping back around her. He held her neck an awkward angle, and she frowned. That was going to leave quite a kink in her neck in the morning. Turning her head to minimize the inevitable pain, she softly burrowed her head into his chest, breathing his scent deeply.

Loriwen fell asleep, a content smile on her face.

Letters to Grams: Stars!

June 28
Loriwen Snowberry, 6 Long Street, Wildore, Bree-land

Stars!

Oh, Grams. Stars! I’ve never professed a love of them before tonight, but how I wish to proclaim it this late night. I had just finished draining my bath, was settling in to relax for the late evening.. and a knock at the door! Tarlanc showed up, quite unexpectedly, dressed up all fancy. He even brought a bottle of wine from far away to share. He wanted to get my approval of his outfit for Friday. The dance, that is. Such a silly notion, of course. He could show up to the dance wearing a dirty and ripped farming outfit, for all I care. It was a wonderful sight to see, particularly when it was unlooked for! He even had someone else cut his hair and trim his beard. It was a bit of a funny sight, me being so used to seeing him unruly and roughly kempt. He kept hinting at seeing my dress, but I held firm. He shall not see it until Friday!

We shared mugs of wine, given that I have no interesting glasses or anything of the sort. Too easily breakable, don’t hold enough liquid. Leastways, that’s how I’m seeing it. It was quite a peculiar wine, from distant Forochel. He said it was…ice wine? Ice wine, yes. Cooled the body, which is always good on a late summer day. It reminded me of winter, with the fresh, clean and cold taste it had. Apparently he has a second bottle stashed away, and he said he’d keep it until winter comes around. To compare, that is. I still can’t believe Tarlanc has never seen a winter. To only have seen snow from a distance? Ah, what a shame! While it can be a bit too cold for me at times, snow is still dreadfully fun to play in. We’re going to try to create some snow-fish when the first snows fall. That will be a day to remember, just as tonight is.

Ah, tonight! Grams. Grams, I am so happy. We’ve known each other a scarce month, but there is this connection. Everything is an ease to talk about, even the more difficult things. He spoke of his uncle tonight, a steadfast and hearty man. Spoke of his death, as well. I can tell his uncle was a true hero of his…I wish I could have met the man. Apparently a fish hook caught his leg and it caught an infection that took over his body. It sounded slow and horrible. They actually do let dead sailors into the ocean when they die at sea.. I had no idea it was actually true! When he told me, I tried to comfort him, but I guess it’s so far in the past that it’s a distant ache, much like what happens when I think of you and Dad. Something that will never heal completely, but not something that one breaks down over every time they think of it.

Then he asked me about Dad, if I ever visit him. That is coming up next Friday, isn’t it? I always visit on his birthday, and on mine. Actually having a group of adult friends to talk with and have a birthday party with is new to me, very new to me.. I will make sure everything is set up the evening before, because I want to make sure that I have all the time I need in the morning to visit. I could visit another day, but that’s not the promise I made. We’ll always celebrate our birthdays together, even in silence and without cake. That is not a promise I will break.

Ah, now I think of important but sad subjects. I have a rather peculiar question for you, Grams. I know you can’t answer it, stars, how I wish you could… Ah, stars! Now I am reminded of the part of my evening that was so wonderful. Forget the question, it’s not important. Stars, stars, stars. After drinking our mug of wine each and having a rather tender and simple conversation about berries, we headed outside to look at the stars. Laying down in the grass, the warm summer air surrounding us, nothing between us and the naked sky…it was perfect. He began to name the constellations in his tongue, most of which I couldn’t pronounce properly if my life depended on it! Such lovely names, regardless of my inability to speak them. I will remember the northern star’s name, though. Fornel. A lovely and simple enough name. I certainly won’t be able to find it again, all the twinkling dots look the same to an untrained eye! He promised he would find it for me if ever I asked, he’ll be my compass. Actually, he got a weird look on his face when I asked that, but I didn’t press. It’s as if my question was a different question to him, very odd. I was just asking if he’d find a star for me!

I think my arm is near ready to fall off, and I really should head into bed. I will simply end my telling of this wonderful evening with the following statement: everyone should fall asleep with the one th beneath the stars at least once. Nothing is more relaxing, more fulfilling, or more romantic. I’ll now go (alone, don’t you fret) to bed, and sleep the rest of this wretchedly short night away. Tomorrow, I need to make the final adjustments to my ales and head into town to clean Mother’s earrings. That will be a busy and fun day, to compliment the wonderful night I just had. Good night, Grams.

Your little pumpkin,
Lori

Letters to Grams: Ramblings

June 21
Loriwen Snowberry, 6 Long Street, Wildore, Bree-land

The wonders of talking.

Ah, my faith in just telling someone how you feel has proven to be the right thing to do, yet again. Not only is it nice to have myself proven right, but everything makes so much more sense in my life. Let me apologize in advance, for this letter is going to be even more dull than the previous.

Oh, wait! I planted some strawberries. That’s how interesting I am. Ah, perhaps I’m a bit too hard on myself. I saw Anna the other day, that was wonderful. I missed her so much, and I think she missed me, too. Gave me a right big hug when she saw me! That was wonderful. I love hugs…not enough people give hugs these days. It’s a shame. But Anna. Yes, I went into town to find a dress for that dance I mentioned in my last letter. The best place to go to get a dress is most certainly Anna’s shop. Her work is fine, and I know she puts her heart into every piece she makes. After fussing over me for a bit, she went into the back and pulled out a special order that had never been picked up.

It is gorgeous, Grams. Gorgeous! The fabric is soft and smooth, flowing beautifully. The sleeves are long, which is good because of how much I manage to mess myself up with running into things. Can’t see any bruises if you have longer sleeves on. The bust isn’t too low, but it’s no average dress, either. The color is what caught my eye, both literally and so to speak. It was dyed a wonderful shade of teal, the exact color of my eyes. Ah, I looked at it in her looking-steel and it was amazing how well it matched my eyes. The only thing that didn’t fit was that it was a bit too long, so she shooed me out of the shop and hemmed it right up for me. My measurements certainly haven’t changed since the last dress she made for me, so she knew what was what.

She also gave me a bit of a talk on not letting a man get away from me if I care for him. I feel so bad for her! How could Dad have never noticed? Well, noticed is the wrong word. Did anything about it is the better word. Poor Anna loved him before he left for his travels, and he married Mother later on. She always did love him.. it breaks my heart to think about it. Even now, she treats me like I’m her daughter. She still has tears in her eyes when she thinks of him. It’s not fair to her! She’s such a wonderful and warm woman, why would he not want her, even years after?

Ah, I don’t understand it, but I guess that’s a foolish thing for me to go on about, isn’t it? I never knew Mother, never even knew her name. Whatever happened to her affected Dad so deeply that he never even considered another woman, even years later. I wish I knew so much! Even people around town didn’t know her, it’s as if she didn’t actually exist. The only description I ever got of her was her long blonde hair and stern face. That’s it! That’s all I know of my mother. Anna is more of a mother to me, so I suppose that’s why I seem so indignant on her part. I know Mother didn’t intend to die, no one truly does…but I’ll always wonder. Did she love me? Did she run away to get away from me? Was it something Dad did? Did she run off and get attacked by highwaymen? I’ll never know. I don’t even know her name. My own mother’s name, I don’t know it.

I don’t even know why she insisted on my name as it is. Loriwen. The only story Dad ever told me of her was that one. I asked why I had such an odd name, as all my friends were named Helen and Sue and other short and normal names. My name had that “wen” on the end. Everyone always called me “Lori” as it was, so why was my name different? He told me that my mother insisted my name carry “wen” at the end of it. She liked the name “Lori” well enough, but Loriwen would be my full name. It clearly wasn’t any kind of fight, as it’s just a name, but he did give in and allow it. He told me it changed my name’s meaning from “leaves” to “lady of leaves.” That it made me special. Then he asked me to help you with the dishes, he had to be alone. Now I can only assume that means he wept, but I don’t know for sure. He was quite sad. You remember that day, don’t you? It’s the day I hopped up to help you with the dishware and told you I was a proper lady, my name even said it. That I was going to marry me a rich man and wear lady-dresses. Oh, what a fond memory! I had forgotten all about that second part until just now. I hope you remember it as fondly as I do. What a typical girl-child I was!

In some ways, I miss those days, and in others, I wouldn’t trade now for then. I do miss you both dearly. So, so dearly. I hope you’re reading these letters as I write them. You two are what I miss about those days most. Childlike innocence is nice, and I think I’ve still retained a bit of it, but what I really miss are you and Dad. I look to the past too much in these letters, I think! Probably because I’m uncertain as to the future. My future’s been certain for a long time: I’d grow old, make friends, carve wood, and grow my garden. These same things have kept me happy and content enough for the past ten years since both of you left. Romance, peh! Everyone wants romance, but every time I even thought of it with someone, they turned me down quite promptly.

Even that Camus fellow. I never wrote you about him, but that was quite upsetting at the time. Quite some time ago, when I first discovered the Broken Cask (that tavern I frequent) I met a cousin of the innkeeper. He name is – was? I’m not sure, I haven’t seen him in months – Camus Locksley. Same surname as Rosie’s before she got married, that’s how I know it. He was a quiet enough man, a bit younger than me, though. I figured there would be no chance, but he took what I thought was an interest in me. He’d actually talk to me without others around, and I thought I’d catch him looking at me. Things were crazy then, what with the flood and plague spreading around. He disappeared for a while, and I was a bit worried he had perished along with so many others. I even found myself a vial of the cure and saved it for him. I saw him one time after that, talked with him for a short while. Gave him the vial, it seemed like he enjoyed talking. Never saw him again. Quite odd, quite disappointing. Ah, but there is a point to this little story. I’d gotten over that long ago. My point is that it has happened to me a lot, constantly thinking a man may have an eye for me but then completely ignoring me or showing up one day with another woman on his arm. I’ve become used to being alone, even began to enjoy it. Could go where I wanted, when I wanted, didn’t have to worry about worrying anyone else.

Why did my thoughts turn here? I promise, there’s even another layer of a point: Tarlanc. I know, my letters seem to always begin and end with him. He is admittedly on my mind very often. Strange that I’d find myself enamored with and being courted by a Gondor sailor of all the types of people in the world, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. He took me aside the other day, told me that the risks I take when I gather my timber concern him. He wants to help, to protect me. I’ve never had someone care about what I do. He really listens to me talk about what I’ve carved. He actually wants to hear stories of you and Dad. Whenever I hurt myself by accident, he softly tells me he wishes I would be more careful. He cares about me. It’s new, and I’m still reeling from it.

He told a lovely story last night at the Cask, a most adorable story about a rainbow fish that could feed an entire village for a year. He modified it a bit, apparently, to be friendly for the Hobbit-lass we were…well, we weren’t taking care of her, but I guess we were. She had fallen asleep and missed her Ma. So I held her and he told her a story to calm and quiet her. The story was adorable…I could tell he has those nieces and nephews he’s mentioned before. I’m beginning to wonder if he wants children of his own. He always mentions his family first, warns me that they’d be asking about children in the first five minutes of meeting me, but he mentions it a lot himself. I wonder if he realizes how often it’s brought up, and always by him, not me. Even as early as our second real meeting, he was mentioning how a woman of my age can carry a healthy child just fine! It scares me quite a bit, Grams. I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a mother, at all. I’m just too clumsy. I’d be more apt to drop them or feed them the wrong food than not. I do love children, but to actually be in charge of one? Oh, no. I just don’t think I could do it. I don’t even want to think about it anymore.

Ah, this letter has gone long, hasn’t it? I really should wrap it up, I have to finish cleaning up my house. I’ll write you again soon, and perhaps even with the length I showed here! Give Dad a hug for me, a big hug.

Your little pumpkin,
Lori