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sulkysukey's PB from random paintings that aren't completely off to Catinca Untaru. Aside from the fact that she's slightly fuller-cheeked than I really have in mind for Sukey, she basically looks about right for it. I'd have to pick 'em carefully, though, as she hasn't got the right eye colour. >>
I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS MATTERS IT IS NOT AS THOUGH I HAVE PLANS TO PLAY HER ANYWHERE. But it is vaguely related to the below, which is another Poe Family Adventure. As per usual with them, historical accuracy isn't really what they exist for, so asking it of them is a bit of a tiring job. Completely unedited and likely to stay that way. And, of course, as per usual, asks the question "What if, instead of dying, Virginia and Edgar Poe had three wacky children?" Today's installment is to be blamed entirely upon Kate Beaton.
The little house in Baltimore was abuzz with news brought by special mail that afternoon. The postman had arrived at their home at just the same time as Papa, who was returning from seeing to things at the office he had as late been able to acquire for The Stylus. It was a good day for Papa that day, and as his wife and three children came to greet him at his entrance, he held the envelope aloft and announced that they had received an epistle from Fance.
Mamie, who was, in her opinion, quite too big a girl to squeal over such things as a letter from across the sea, attempted to jar her fascination and instead informed Sukey that she was being very silly to pull at Papa's coat and ask questions.
Sukey paid her no mind and continued in her own way. "Is it from Mr. Boh--Mr. Bohd--" she inquired, stumbling over the name of her Papa's chief French correspondent. They received on occasion letters from Mr. Baudelaire, who was quite preoccupied with translating Papa's works into French; while the missals tended to be brief, Mr. Baudelaire almost always remembered to give his regards to Mrs. Poe and the children. Sukey very much liked being regarded, as did Mamie, though the latter took the honour with all the gravitas that could be afforded a seven year old. (Little Ed did not have a clear understanding of what exactly being regarded was, but as his elder sisters were clearly in favour, he was a gracious tot about the whole thing and smiled along.)
"It is not from Mr. Baudelaire," Papa replied, his voice deep and warm. "Truthfully, I am not sure who it is from." He went to sit in his preferred armchair, followed by his little brood. Little Ed was given the favour of his father's knee, while Mamie and Sukey crowded about on either side.
Even Mama could not contain her curiosity as to the letter and stood behind Papa, leaning down so their heads were level and saying, "Do open it, Eddy, the hand looks quite unfamiliar."
Papa did as he was beseeched and, having retrieved the letter held within, silently scanned the message for its purpose. This proved to be too much to bear even for Mamie, for just as Sukey entreated their father to read it, she asked, "What does it say, Papa?"
He glanced at each of his girls in turn, his dark, deep-set eyes meeting their matches in each daughter. Though his expression was, by his standards, fairly mild, Sukey bit her lip, and Mamie cast her eyes down to the floor. He continued to read quietly, and some moments later, spoke. "It is from a fellow called Verne. He says he was taken with my Balloon-Hoax from some years ago--before you were born," he added, at Mamie and Sukey's puzzled expressions, "and would like to write my biography for the French."
"What's a biography, Papa?" Sukey asked, leaning towards the letter as though to attempt to read it herself.
Mamie, who had been moving in a similar fashion, gave her younger sister a push. "You can't even read, Sukey, you needn't stare at Papa's letter."
"I want to look at Mr. Verne's hand!" Sukey cried out in reply as she returned her sister's favour with a shove.
Before either could attempt further rebuttal, verbal or physical, they were taken in hand by their mother. "Maria! Susan!" Mama said, her voice a flat, clear warning. "Papa has given neither of you permission to inspect his letter. Your behaviour cries out for bed without supper." Their countenances were immediately twin, each an equal mix of horror and remorse. "I believe you owe your father an apology for quarreling so; surely you do not think this is an appropriate way to welcome him home?"
"We're sorry, Papa," was the general reply, with an added small chorus of, "Please let us have our supper tonight," from Sukey.
"You are forgiven," he said gravely, looking like a very stern lion at the both of them.
Mamie's look of dread smoothed into a prim smile, and she kissed Papa on the cheek. Sukey, however, continued to look somewhat bewildered, and she pulled at her father's sleeve.
"Yes, Sukey?"
"Papa, what is a biography?"
sulkysukey's PB from random paintings that aren't completely off to Catinca Untaru. Aside from the fact that she's slightly fuller-cheeked than I really have in mind for Sukey, she basically looks about right for it. I'd have to pick 'em carefully, though, as she hasn't got the right eye colour. >>I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS MATTERS IT IS NOT AS THOUGH I HAVE PLANS TO PLAY HER ANYWHERE. But it is vaguely related to the below, which is another Poe Family Adventure. As per usual with them, historical accuracy isn't really what they exist for, so asking it of them is a bit of a tiring job. Completely unedited and likely to stay that way. And, of course, as per usual, asks the question "What if, instead of dying, Virginia and Edgar Poe had three wacky children?" Today's installment is to be blamed entirely upon Kate Beaton.
The little house in Baltimore was abuzz with news brought by special mail that afternoon. The postman had arrived at their home at just the same time as Papa, who was returning from seeing to things at the office he had as late been able to acquire for The Stylus. It was a good day for Papa that day, and as his wife and three children came to greet him at his entrance, he held the envelope aloft and announced that they had received an epistle from Fance.
Mamie, who was, in her opinion, quite too big a girl to squeal over such things as a letter from across the sea, attempted to jar her fascination and instead informed Sukey that she was being very silly to pull at Papa's coat and ask questions.
Sukey paid her no mind and continued in her own way. "Is it from Mr. Boh--Mr. Bohd--" she inquired, stumbling over the name of her Papa's chief French correspondent. They received on occasion letters from Mr. Baudelaire, who was quite preoccupied with translating Papa's works into French; while the missals tended to be brief, Mr. Baudelaire almost always remembered to give his regards to Mrs. Poe and the children. Sukey very much liked being regarded, as did Mamie, though the latter took the honour with all the gravitas that could be afforded a seven year old. (Little Ed did not have a clear understanding of what exactly being regarded was, but as his elder sisters were clearly in favour, he was a gracious tot about the whole thing and smiled along.)
"It is not from Mr. Baudelaire," Papa replied, his voice deep and warm. "Truthfully, I am not sure who it is from." He went to sit in his preferred armchair, followed by his little brood. Little Ed was given the favour of his father's knee, while Mamie and Sukey crowded about on either side.
Even Mama could not contain her curiosity as to the letter and stood behind Papa, leaning down so their heads were level and saying, "Do open it, Eddy, the hand looks quite unfamiliar."
Papa did as he was beseeched and, having retrieved the letter held within, silently scanned the message for its purpose. This proved to be too much to bear even for Mamie, for just as Sukey entreated their father to read it, she asked, "What does it say, Papa?"
He glanced at each of his girls in turn, his dark, deep-set eyes meeting their matches in each daughter. Though his expression was, by his standards, fairly mild, Sukey bit her lip, and Mamie cast her eyes down to the floor. He continued to read quietly, and some moments later, spoke. "It is from a fellow called Verne. He says he was taken with my Balloon-Hoax from some years ago--before you were born," he added, at Mamie and Sukey's puzzled expressions, "and would like to write my biography for the French."
"What's a biography, Papa?" Sukey asked, leaning towards the letter as though to attempt to read it herself.
Mamie, who had been moving in a similar fashion, gave her younger sister a push. "You can't even read, Sukey, you needn't stare at Papa's letter."
"I want to look at Mr. Verne's hand!" Sukey cried out in reply as she returned her sister's favour with a shove.
Before either could attempt further rebuttal, verbal or physical, they were taken in hand by their mother. "Maria! Susan!" Mama said, her voice a flat, clear warning. "Papa has given neither of you permission to inspect his letter. Your behaviour cries out for bed without supper." Their countenances were immediately twin, each an equal mix of horror and remorse. "I believe you owe your father an apology for quarreling so; surely you do not think this is an appropriate way to welcome him home?"
"We're sorry, Papa," was the general reply, with an added small chorus of, "Please let us have our supper tonight," from Sukey.
"You are forgiven," he said gravely, looking like a very stern lion at the both of them.
Mamie's look of dread smoothed into a prim smile, and she kissed Papa on the cheek. Sukey, however, continued to look somewhat bewildered, and she pulled at her father's sleeve.
"Yes, Sukey?"
"Papa, what is a biography?"
