<![CDATA[By Wit & Whitby - Memories and Introspection]]>

<![CDATA[By Wit & Whitby - Memories and Introspection]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/ Thu, 16 Apr 2026 12:40:33 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[[Solo] Revenant]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1064 Sun, 14 Sep 2025 21:14:18 +0000 Anne Ward]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1064

November 1895

Daylight was already spilling in around the edges of the window blind, but prying eyes were thwarted. Anne knelt on the floor of the dusky bedroom. A cotton bag lay open in front of her. Blood buzzed in her ears. She could have prepared her bag during the night, when she lay awake, twisting, turning, sweating. She had not. Even this morning, she had taken her time getting washed and dressed, doing her chores. And now that the moment was here, she wavered. Perhaps she should put it off. Perhaps things weren’t so bad.

She pinched the back of her hand. How dared she back out now? Courage! Anne sat up and lifted her mattress as quietly as she could. There was a hole in the bottom. She put her hand through, felt around for a few seconds, then withdrew an old sock with a bulky content – the money she had secretly earned and saved up for this purpose. She had not expected to call on it so soon.

“Anne!”

She jolted and nearly dropped the sock.

“Aye?” Could her father hear the quiver in her voice. She certainly could. His presence hadn’t been part of the plan. He should have been out at sea by this time, but the north-easternly wind had prevented it. She heard him pacing in the other room.

“Hurry up, child! You don’t want to miss the train!”

She put her hand over her mouth. Her other hand pushed the sock into the corner of her bag, where she hoped it would not make noise. Poor father. Her savings included the pennies he had given her yesterday to buy herself something nice in Scarborough. That was where he believed she was going, on the long-anticipated outing of the Methodist girls society. She had waited for it, despite the increasing sense of urgency. If she was wrong, she could return without her father ever finding out. If not… how cruel to use his own kindness to break his heart.

“Anne!”

She dropped her hand. “Aye, coming!” There was no time for guilt. She moved to the chest at the foot end of her bed and opened it.

“What are ye doin’ in there, lass?”

“I can’t find me Bible!” She took out a clean set of drawers, clean stockings and a clean shift.

“What do ye mean ye can’t find –“

“Found it!” She slammed the chest shut and stuffed the underclothes into her bag. She dared not bring more for fear that her bag would look too bulky. At least she was wearing the new clothes Mrs. Blacke had given her. Her heart broke thinking -, but no! Not now!

She closed her bag and flung it over her shoulder as she scrambled to her feet. Then, without another glance around the familiar bedroom, she hurried out. Her father handed her her hat as she flew by.

“Now hurry! And have fun!”

“Aye!” she breathed and she darted out of the suffocating cottage. She had not looked at him one last time either. She ran faster. Poor, poor father. Her vision blurred.

Fifteen minutes later, she limped onto the platform at Whitby West Cliff railway station. A group of women and girls, all dressed in their Sunday best, had gathered at the far end of the platform by the third class compartments of a train that looked ready to depart. An elderly woman hurried towards her.

“Anne! Thank goodness, child, we were... but what happened to your leg?”

“It’s me own stupid fault, Mrs. Payne. I was so late, I had to run and twisted my ankle. I don’t think I can come.”

“Oh dear. Can you walk if two girls support you?”

“Not too long, Mrs. Payne. I think I’ll make it worse."

“Oh poor child. I know how much you’ve looked forward to it.” She sighed. “Well, nothing to be done. I’ll help you home.”

Anne panicked. “No!” Mrs. Payne looked startled. Anne’s face felt hot. “Please…” she corrected herself. “I don’t want to rob you of your outing. My sister lives close by. I’m sure I can make it to hers on my own.” Mrs. Payne hesitated. "Really, I'll be fine."

There was a whistle and the women and girls began to board.

“Please, Mrs. Payne!”

“Straight to your sister then.”

As soon as the train was out of view, Anne turned on her heel and ran. She had twenty minutes before her train departed from Whitby Town Station and she still needed to buy a ticket. Most of the way was a blur. She slowed down once she got close to the station. It lay just across from Dock End, where some of the fishing boats were docked. Sheltering behind a parked carriage, Anne peered along the waterside. When she was certain the coast was clear, she inhaled sharply and sprinted across the road.

“One ticket to Castleton, please,” she told the man at the ticket booth.

“Single or return?”

She hesitated, dizzy.

“Miss?”

“Single.”]]>

November 1895

Daylight was already spilling in around the edges of the window blind, but prying eyes were thwarted. Anne knelt on the floor of the dusky bedroom. A cotton bag lay open in front of her. Blood buzzed in her ears. She could have prepared her bag during the night, when she lay awake, twisting, turning, sweating. She had not. Even this morning, she had taken her time getting washed and dressed, doing her chores. And now that the moment was here, she wavered. Perhaps she should put it off. Perhaps things weren’t so bad.

She pinched the back of her hand. How dared she back out now? Courage! Anne sat up and lifted her mattress as quietly as she could. There was a hole in the bottom. She put her hand through, felt around for a few seconds, then withdrew an old sock with a bulky content – the money she had secretly earned and saved up for this purpose. She had not expected to call on it so soon.

“Anne!”

She jolted and nearly dropped the sock.

“Aye?” Could her father hear the quiver in her voice. She certainly could. His presence hadn’t been part of the plan. He should have been out at sea by this time, but the north-easternly wind had prevented it. She heard him pacing in the other room.

“Hurry up, child! You don’t want to miss the train!”

She put her hand over her mouth. Her other hand pushed the sock into the corner of her bag, where she hoped it would not make noise. Poor father. Her savings included the pennies he had given her yesterday to buy herself something nice in Scarborough. That was where he believed she was going, on the long-anticipated outing of the Methodist girls society. She had waited for it, despite the increasing sense of urgency. If she was wrong, she could return without her father ever finding out. If not… how cruel to use his own kindness to break his heart.

“Anne!”

She dropped her hand. “Aye, coming!” There was no time for guilt. She moved to the chest at the foot end of her bed and opened it.

“What are ye doin’ in there, lass?”

“I can’t find me Bible!” She took out a clean set of drawers, clean stockings and a clean shift.

“What do ye mean ye can’t find –“

“Found it!” She slammed the chest shut and stuffed the underclothes into her bag. She dared not bring more for fear that her bag would look too bulky. At least she was wearing the new clothes Mrs. Blacke had given her. Her heart broke thinking -, but no! Not now!

She closed her bag and flung it over her shoulder as she scrambled to her feet. Then, without another glance around the familiar bedroom, she hurried out. Her father handed her her hat as she flew by.

“Now hurry! And have fun!”

“Aye!” she breathed and she darted out of the suffocating cottage. She had not looked at him one last time either. She ran faster. Poor, poor father. Her vision blurred.

Fifteen minutes later, she limped onto the platform at Whitby West Cliff railway station. A group of women and girls, all dressed in their Sunday best, had gathered at the far end of the platform by the third class compartments of a train that looked ready to depart. An elderly woman hurried towards her.

“Anne! Thank goodness, child, we were... but what happened to your leg?”

“It’s me own stupid fault, Mrs. Payne. I was so late, I had to run and twisted my ankle. I don’t think I can come.”

“Oh dear. Can you walk if two girls support you?”

“Not too long, Mrs. Payne. I think I’ll make it worse."

“Oh poor child. I know how much you’ve looked forward to it.” She sighed. “Well, nothing to be done. I’ll help you home.”

Anne panicked. “No!” Mrs. Payne looked startled. Anne’s face felt hot. “Please…” she corrected herself. “I don’t want to rob you of your outing. My sister lives close by. I’m sure I can make it to hers on my own.” Mrs. Payne hesitated. "Really, I'll be fine."

There was a whistle and the women and girls began to board.

“Please, Mrs. Payne!”

“Straight to your sister then.”

As soon as the train was out of view, Anne turned on her heel and ran. She had twenty minutes before her train departed from Whitby Town Station and she still needed to buy a ticket. Most of the way was a blur. She slowed down once she got close to the station. It lay just across from Dock End, where some of the fishing boats were docked. Sheltering behind a parked carriage, Anne peered along the waterside. When she was certain the coast was clear, she inhaled sharply and sprinted across the road.

“One ticket to Castleton, please,” she told the man at the ticket booth.

“Single or return?”

She hesitated, dizzy.

“Miss?”

“Single.”]]> <![CDATA[Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1027 Tue, 24 Dec 2024 01:59:54 +0000 Pearl Blacke]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1027
Pearl was just so tired as of late and sat under a tree she had daydreamed under. Nobody spent time in the gardens except for servants in the kitchen garden, and there was none about that she could see. She knew she wouldn't stroll that close to the house anyway. The young woman had slipped in through the small hedge maze into the gardens furthest back.

As she lay beneath the tree, her face dappled by the sun that barely cast away the chill of the season, but she did not care. Her eyes closed and she slumbered, using an old cloak that came from the governess who was said to have died. One of the servants had given it to her just as she was hitting a growth spurt. She had liked the garment well and was touched and assumed the woman had wanted her to have it. What was odd to her was it was a little ornate for a governess. It was crushed black velvet and lined with the softest of wool.

Her mother had hated seeing it on her upon first sight... She did not understand why, but she put it away and never pulled it from the cupboard where her clothes had once been. The smell of cedar still lingered upon the fabric. The smell reminded her of something vague about it, but it must have slipped her mind.

She did not notice the lone figure watching her sleep. Magnus kept a silent gaze upon her, reminded of her mother. He wondered if she even lived still. Pearl looked so tired that he wanted to scoop her up to hold her as he would when she was young. He wished he hadn't done many things, but he could not wish ill on his own daughter... Even his own illigitimate one.

She had been spotted by the elderly gardener who came to him she tresspassed. Magnus had gruffly said, "She isn't tresspassing," before he went to that blasted neglected garden, wishing she hadn't found it in her tender years. He did not want to disturb her, so he sort of withdrew.

Something was off about her, she was paler than he had seen her before and her face seemed somewhat more rounded. He had seen signs enough in his lifetime, even earlier on that it was either pregancy or she was getting close to her time, a thought that caused him to inwardly groan for having learned a woman's cycle and... Whatever frippery he knew because of his wife. Fucking womanly bodies, he almost muttered out loud as he retreated to the house to leave her be because he just did not have the heart to wake her or move her from the stupid cove she loved so much and he hated because of her mother. Not Ann but that... Young governess he lured into his clasps. He had fucked her everywhere in that god forsaken place.

"I should have burned it down," he drawled to himself once he was puffing on a cigar in the darkened drawing room, planted in his arm chair facing the small fire that... Tulley? Terra? Oh yes... Tilly. He curled his lip and then barked out, "Go tend to Pearl in the garden... The dead one." He gave her a waving motion and took a few heavy draws from the cigar as he mulled.

"Wait," he said just as she started for the door, "Don't wake her, she looks unwell and the cool air might help. Then tend to Miss Ruth. She must be made comfortable. Do not keep her waiting like Martha."

When she was gone, he was alone with his thoughts, his head pounding from need of a stiff drink.

Fuck them all while I fuck Ruth. He didn't care. In fact, he felt himself stirring at the thought of making her cry out his name while he pushed her over the edge. He loosened his neck tie and drank to that.]]>
Pearl was just so tired as of late and sat under a tree she had daydreamed under. Nobody spent time in the gardens except for servants in the kitchen garden, and there was none about that she could see. She knew she wouldn't stroll that close to the house anyway. The young woman had slipped in through the small hedge maze into the gardens furthest back.

As she lay beneath the tree, her face dappled by the sun that barely cast away the chill of the season, but she did not care. Her eyes closed and she slumbered, using an old cloak that came from the governess who was said to have died. One of the servants had given it to her just as she was hitting a growth spurt. She had liked the garment well and was touched and assumed the woman had wanted her to have it. What was odd to her was it was a little ornate for a governess. It was crushed black velvet and lined with the softest of wool.

Her mother had hated seeing it on her upon first sight... She did not understand why, but she put it away and never pulled it from the cupboard where her clothes had once been. The smell of cedar still lingered upon the fabric. The smell reminded her of something vague about it, but it must have slipped her mind.

She did not notice the lone figure watching her sleep. Magnus kept a silent gaze upon her, reminded of her mother. He wondered if she even lived still. Pearl looked so tired that he wanted to scoop her up to hold her as he would when she was young. He wished he hadn't done many things, but he could not wish ill on his own daughter... Even his own illigitimate one.

She had been spotted by the elderly gardener who came to him she tresspassed. Magnus had gruffly said, "She isn't tresspassing," before he went to that blasted neglected garden, wishing she hadn't found it in her tender years. He did not want to disturb her, so he sort of withdrew.

Something was off about her, she was paler than he had seen her before and her face seemed somewhat more rounded. He had seen signs enough in his lifetime, even earlier on that it was either pregancy or she was getting close to her time, a thought that caused him to inwardly groan for having learned a woman's cycle and... Whatever frippery he knew because of his wife. Fucking womanly bodies, he almost muttered out loud as he retreated to the house to leave her be because he just did not have the heart to wake her or move her from the stupid cove she loved so much and he hated because of her mother. Not Ann but that... Young governess he lured into his clasps. He had fucked her everywhere in that god forsaken place.

"I should have burned it down," he drawled to himself once he was puffing on a cigar in the darkened drawing room, planted in his arm chair facing the small fire that... Tulley? Terra? Oh yes... Tilly. He curled his lip and then barked out, "Go tend to Pearl in the garden... The dead one." He gave her a waving motion and took a few heavy draws from the cigar as he mulled.

"Wait," he said just as she started for the door, "Don't wake her, she looks unwell and the cool air might help. Then tend to Miss Ruth. She must be made comfortable. Do not keep her waiting like Martha."

When she was gone, he was alone with his thoughts, his head pounding from need of a stiff drink.

Fuck them all while I fuck Ruth. He didn't care. In fact, he felt himself stirring at the thought of making her cry out his name while he pushed her over the edge. He loosened his neck tie and drank to that.]]> <![CDATA[I Set Fire to the Rain(Solo)]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1025 Sun, 08 Dec 2024 16:55:20 +0000 Sonia DeAngelis]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=1025
The night was quiet, the cold seeping into her bones despite the cloak she wore. She had sent missives to the others that the brothel needed to be cleared out for a proper cleaning and to make the proper arrangements for oneself or be put out for the night. She knew what she was about to do would land her in trouble... she was desperate to get out of the trap that was her second forced marriage. Sonia was prepared to die though. If she lived, perhaps she would turn herself in and would find that to be more accomodating than the current situation.

She turned the corner to the back of the building, slipping into the servants' door using her key when she found it rightly locked. Good sign, she thought. She hear no laughter filling her ears, the servants were told they were needed to help the girls get situated and to keep them safe in the meantime, she made it seem like she was going to hire an entire group just for cleaning. At least they still kept loyal to her, she thought as she doffed the cloak so it would not set fire.

Her form was covered in clothing that belonged to one of her servants. Although baggy, it was better than a skirt for what she was about to do. "I have nothing left to lose... All of my choices have been made for me for a long while now and I choose to break free," she said to herself out loud to at least end the silence. She put the cloak right next to the back door because she planned to use that door once more.

Sonia took the time to make sure each and every room was deserted, from the scullery to to the attic and everywhere in between, the doors all left wide open and windows too. The brothel needed to be burnt down and she would be the one to take it down; she had the most reason out of everyone!

It was with hurried steps then that she went into the bar area. She peered through the darkness, slightly illuminated by the single candle she lit a moment after arrival. She thought about whether she wanted to go or just sit there while the fire burned... She deserved to die, didn't she? Her throat closed as she stared.

And in the next instant, her anger boiled over. She marched behind the bar, grabbed the fullest bottle of whiskey, opened it, took a drink for some courage and then she began to just throw the bottles and decanters every which way. She yelled at every bottle she hurled, the scents of stale tobacco replaced by the strong odor of the spirits as they crashed into walls and tables, floors and chairs. She grabbed another bottle and poured it all over the bar that her dead husband had first fucked her on.

It would be a good ten minutes before the alcohol was no longer available to throw.

She panted angrily and grabbed the candle, setting fire to that bar first before stooping down to do the same to the floors, then the tables. And when the whole room became an inferno, instead of running like she had planned, she sobbed and watched the fire burn.]]>
The night was quiet, the cold seeping into her bones despite the cloak she wore. She had sent missives to the others that the brothel needed to be cleared out for a proper cleaning and to make the proper arrangements for oneself or be put out for the night. She knew what she was about to do would land her in trouble... she was desperate to get out of the trap that was her second forced marriage. Sonia was prepared to die though. If she lived, perhaps she would turn herself in and would find that to be more accomodating than the current situation.

She turned the corner to the back of the building, slipping into the servants' door using her key when she found it rightly locked. Good sign, she thought. She hear no laughter filling her ears, the servants were told they were needed to help the girls get situated and to keep them safe in the meantime, she made it seem like she was going to hire an entire group just for cleaning. At least they still kept loyal to her, she thought as she doffed the cloak so it would not set fire.

Her form was covered in clothing that belonged to one of her servants. Although baggy, it was better than a skirt for what she was about to do. "I have nothing left to lose... All of my choices have been made for me for a long while now and I choose to break free," she said to herself out loud to at least end the silence. She put the cloak right next to the back door because she planned to use that door once more.

Sonia took the time to make sure each and every room was deserted, from the scullery to to the attic and everywhere in between, the doors all left wide open and windows too. The brothel needed to be burnt down and she would be the one to take it down; she had the most reason out of everyone!

It was with hurried steps then that she went into the bar area. She peered through the darkness, slightly illuminated by the single candle she lit a moment after arrival. She thought about whether she wanted to go or just sit there while the fire burned... She deserved to die, didn't she? Her throat closed as she stared.

And in the next instant, her anger boiled over. She marched behind the bar, grabbed the fullest bottle of whiskey, opened it, took a drink for some courage and then she began to just throw the bottles and decanters every which way. She yelled at every bottle she hurled, the scents of stale tobacco replaced by the strong odor of the spirits as they crashed into walls and tables, floors and chairs. She grabbed another bottle and poured it all over the bar that her dead husband had first fucked her on.

It would be a good ten minutes before the alcohol was no longer available to throw.

She panted angrily and grabbed the candle, setting fire to that bar first before stooping down to do the same to the floors, then the tables. And when the whole room became an inferno, instead of running like she had planned, she sobbed and watched the fire burn.]]> <![CDATA[The Journal of HC for Pearl]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=940 Mon, 13 Mar 2023 21:44:00 +0000 Hortencia Coggins]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=940 Quote:Cristmas Day, 1877

To My Sweet Little Daughter,

This is your first Christmas and I am finally able to sit up and write this for you. The miracle is that we both lived. I wish I could have kept you, and I hate that I have to take this money. It isn't because I don't want you... I want you so badly it hurts, but I cannot provide any kind of life for you if I am this unwell. My only hope is that you are loved by your family as much as I love you. I know what I can do for you... I can make you a future for your adulthood with the notes your father left me with explicit instructions telling me I am not to even approach you. One day, I will be able to return what he gave to me, and then tell you all about what really happened.

I want you to know that you are so very loved, my baby. Please forgive me.

Your Mother,
(Name Redacted By Kimmie)

Quote:January 11, 1878

To My Sweet Little Daughter

I wonder how you are growing right now. Do you have your father's hair? Or is it still that curly mop I got to at least spy after you came to us. I would never be able to forget your little cries, so quiet compared to your siblings... they all gave lusty cries, and yours were barely heard, my child. I only got a glimpse of you before he took you away. It is the thought of you that drives me to fight for life. I promise you one thing.... I promise you that one day, you will be able to make your own choices in a way that I could not. I've talked to someone. I've talked to the bank with the help of a lawyer. They have helped me put some of that money away and to forget about it for a time. By the time you are a woman grown, you'll be able to break away and make your own life the way you see fit as a young lady of means where you will not have to rely upon the mercy of those who have you in their home.

(name redacted)

Quote:February 2, 1878

To My Sweet Little Daughter,

I think of you every day. I don't write to this journal enough for you, but I have a lot of life to fit into this book and maybe even a few more, so it is a way of not overwhelming you by the time you finally get to see this. It's not fair at all that I don't get to hold you in my arms or to smell the way your hair should smell after you've had a bath. I imagine you are an inquisitive little babe by now... You should be crawling soon, and you should soon have a tooth or two, perhaps. I wonder if your eyes are still blue or if they deepened into a lovely coffee brown, or maybe even darker. I hope that you have an infectious laugh and bring joy to those around you. You're so very loved.

(name redacted)

]]> Quote:Cristmas Day, 1877

To My Sweet Little Daughter,

This is your first Christmas and I am finally able to sit up and write this for you. The miracle is that we both lived. I wish I could have kept you, and I hate that I have to take this money. It isn't because I don't want you... I want you so badly it hurts, but I cannot provide any kind of life for you if I am this unwell. My only hope is that you are loved by your family as much as I love you. I know what I can do for you... I can make you a future for your adulthood with the notes your father left me with explicit instructions telling me I am not to even approach you. One day, I will be able to return what he gave to me, and then tell you all about what really happened.

I want you to know that you are so very loved, my baby. Please forgive me.

Your Mother,
(Name Redacted By Kimmie)

Quote:January 11, 1878

To My Sweet Little Daughter

I wonder how you are growing right now. Do you have your father's hair? Or is it still that curly mop I got to at least spy after you came to us. I would never be able to forget your little cries, so quiet compared to your siblings... they all gave lusty cries, and yours were barely heard, my child. I only got a glimpse of you before he took you away. It is the thought of you that drives me to fight for life. I promise you one thing.... I promise you that one day, you will be able to make your own choices in a way that I could not. I've talked to someone. I've talked to the bank with the help of a lawyer. They have helped me put some of that money away and to forget about it for a time. By the time you are a woman grown, you'll be able to break away and make your own life the way you see fit as a young lady of means where you will not have to rely upon the mercy of those who have you in their home.

(name redacted)

Quote:February 2, 1878

To My Sweet Little Daughter,

I think of you every day. I don't write to this journal enough for you, but I have a lot of life to fit into this book and maybe even a few more, so it is a way of not overwhelming you by the time you finally get to see this. It's not fair at all that I don't get to hold you in my arms or to smell the way your hair should smell after you've had a bath. I imagine you are an inquisitive little babe by now... You should be crawling soon, and you should soon have a tooth or two, perhaps. I wonder if your eyes are still blue or if they deepened into a lovely coffee brown, or maybe even darker. I hope that you have an infectious laugh and bring joy to those around you. You're so very loved.

(name redacted)

]]> <![CDATA[Lailani’s secret novels and stories]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=864 Wed, 10 Aug 2022 18:24:22 +0000 Lailani MacKenzie]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=864
Why We Do It: a collection of interviews done by Lailani to gather information from prostitutes and sex workers spanning from the Pacific to the Atlantic and orient with the heart of the question being asked: why do these sex workers do what they do? Along the way providing first hand accounts from prostitutes interviewed, their view of their sex work and how their local culture views it. The novel tries to offer a perspective of sex work that brings humanity to these very real sex workers even with modern society wanting to paint them in a certain light. Locations of sex workers interviewed are: American West and California, Hawaii, Australia, China, Japan, Scotland, other locations unlisted possibly, England with most recent entries that included probably Whitby sex workers either with their names or given fake names if the sex worker asked to be anonymous. This Novel was authored by Lailani MacKenzie in memory of the Whore of Babylon and Mary Magdalene.

Noble Savage: A novel that details the life of a Native Hawaiian woman, giving detail to her traditional way of life among her people and the cultural norms percieved by her people and details the horrifying repercussions that fall to the native Hawaiian woman, her family friends and way of life when James Cook “discovers” a already well known Hawaiian islands. Authored by Lailani MacKenzie

Samurai and Beleza: A fictional love story between a Japanese young man who has come to Hawaii to work on a plantation with hopes to send the money back home and a young Portuguese woman in an abusive loveless marriage. Deals with elements of interracial relationships, sexuality, sex, cultural differences, infidelity and finding home and contentment. Authored by Lailani MacKenzie

To All the People I Have Loved Before Norman: This is a journal entry made in one of Lailani’s private journals, it list in no particular order all the first names of individuals Lailani has been intimate with. Lailani plans on showing Norman this before their wedding as her peculiar way of trying to be intimate. Now keep in mind the names are in no particular order of occurrence- Bao, Pedro, Joao, Thomas, Ines, Chang, Jules, Muhammad, Joseph, Makoa, Gunther, Nam’pa-cu-a, Kofi, Hiroshi, Riku, Jan, Maria, Keanu, Javier, Walter, Isabelle, Blanche, Waru, Iosefa, Molimo, Antoine, Abdul, Hans, Friedrich, Mary, Hua, Mamadou, Patrick, Jack. THESE ARE NOT ALL THE NAMES BUT ALL THE NAMES LAILANI HAS REMEMBERED SO FAR

TO BE CONTINUED]]>
Why We Do It: a collection of interviews done by Lailani to gather information from prostitutes and sex workers spanning from the Pacific to the Atlantic and orient with the heart of the question being asked: why do these sex workers do what they do? Along the way providing first hand accounts from prostitutes interviewed, their view of their sex work and how their local culture views it. The novel tries to offer a perspective of sex work that brings humanity to these very real sex workers even with modern society wanting to paint them in a certain light. Locations of sex workers interviewed are: American West and California, Hawaii, Australia, China, Japan, Scotland, other locations unlisted possibly, England with most recent entries that included probably Whitby sex workers either with their names or given fake names if the sex worker asked to be anonymous. This Novel was authored by Lailani MacKenzie in memory of the Whore of Babylon and Mary Magdalene.

Noble Savage: A novel that details the life of a Native Hawaiian woman, giving detail to her traditional way of life among her people and the cultural norms percieved by her people and details the horrifying repercussions that fall to the native Hawaiian woman, her family friends and way of life when James Cook “discovers” a already well known Hawaiian islands. Authored by Lailani MacKenzie

Samurai and Beleza: A fictional love story between a Japanese young man who has come to Hawaii to work on a plantation with hopes to send the money back home and a young Portuguese woman in an abusive loveless marriage. Deals with elements of interracial relationships, sexuality, sex, cultural differences, infidelity and finding home and contentment. Authored by Lailani MacKenzie

To All the People I Have Loved Before Norman: This is a journal entry made in one of Lailani’s private journals, it list in no particular order all the first names of individuals Lailani has been intimate with. Lailani plans on showing Norman this before their wedding as her peculiar way of trying to be intimate. Now keep in mind the names are in no particular order of occurrence- Bao, Pedro, Joao, Thomas, Ines, Chang, Jules, Muhammad, Joseph, Makoa, Gunther, Nam’pa-cu-a, Kofi, Hiroshi, Riku, Jan, Maria, Keanu, Javier, Walter, Isabelle, Blanche, Waru, Iosefa, Molimo, Antoine, Abdul, Hans, Friedrich, Mary, Hua, Mamadou, Patrick, Jack. THESE ARE NOT ALL THE NAMES BUT ALL THE NAMES LAILANI HAS REMEMBERED SO FAR

TO BE CONTINUED]]> <![CDATA[Real Life Is Complicated]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=783 Sat, 04 Jun 2022 17:47:53 +0000 Tobias Appleton]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=783 September 1882

Tobias slowly drove the trap downhill to the railway station, just as the train from Whitby approached with it's long smoky tail overhead. He stopped at a good distance as he did not want to frighten the horse. Father was normally the one to pick Bess up from the station on Friday evening. Another task Tobias had taken over.

When he had left school a year ago, he had bragged about being a grown man and had felt it, but it was only in the past few weeks, after learning his father's diagnosis, that he began to feel the weight of what it meant to become a man. It had been comfortable so far, working under his father and being told what to do; courting without a final commitment to seal the direction of his life and bury the past and other futures; sharing the job and having plenty of time left to escape to the moors to enjoy its wild beauty and let his mind and feet wander. He now knew that he had still been a boy. But it was coming to an end. He had known that he would take over the farm one day, but who would have thought 'one day' would come so fast?

When the train had stopped, Tobias gently shook the reigns and the horse and trap began to move again. At the station, he jumped down, held the horse still and looked over to the platform. Few people got off at this stop. There was his older sister. He waved.]]> September 1882

Tobias slowly drove the trap downhill to the railway station, just as the train from Whitby approached with it's long smoky tail overhead. He stopped at a good distance as he did not want to frighten the horse. Father was normally the one to pick Bess up from the station on Friday evening. Another task Tobias had taken over.

When he had left school a year ago, he had bragged about being a grown man and had felt it, but it was only in the past few weeks, after learning his father's diagnosis, that he began to feel the weight of what it meant to become a man. It had been comfortable so far, working under his father and being told what to do; courting without a final commitment to seal the direction of his life and bury the past and other futures; sharing the job and having plenty of time left to escape to the moors to enjoy its wild beauty and let his mind and feet wander. He now knew that he had still been a boy. But it was coming to an end. He had known that he would take over the farm one day, but who would have thought 'one day' would come so fast?

When the train had stopped, Tobias gently shook the reigns and the horse and trap began to move again. At the station, he jumped down, held the horse still and looked over to the platform. Few people got off at this stop. There was his older sister. He waved.]]> <![CDATA[Journal of Ruth Blacke]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=589 Mon, 31 Jan 2022 20:05:36 +0000 Ruth Blacke]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=589

Quote:Journal,

I've made the biggest mistake of my life. I married a man who doesn't want me. Now I am headed home with his babe in my belly. I do not have much time to write this, even now I am being waved over.

RB

Quote:Journal,

I've met the most wonderful people and I will work for them one day.

RB

Quote:Journal,

So much has happened since the last time I wrote in you, journal. I had my son, Jacob, and I walked away from Angus for good. I got the job at the Blackwood estate and I couldn't be more blessed with my being here.

RB

Quote:Journal,

That no good... rotten scoundrel! That dirty jacknape! I hate him so! Angus is a fool.

RB

Quote:Journal,

E. was very kind to me today. He went to the bar where Angus was and gave him a what for. Thing is, I don't think Angus will even remember. He was sotted. But I think E. cut a heroic figure... standing up to him on my behalf. Oh, journal, I don't know what I am going to do.

RB

Quote:Journal,

When I look at my son, I do not see Angus in him. I only see a young boy version of me. Thank God for that. Thank God for him being such a good child too. He is my world and I love him so very much.

Angus sent me a letter and it was the most pathetic thing I ever read... I will never let him have my boy.

R.B.

Quote:Journal,

E. called me his friend today. I felt as though for one moment I was floating and time was standing still. Whatever I did to deserve his esteem, I am grateful for, but my love for him must remain quiet. I cannot let him find out that my heart beats harder every time I see him or whenever we eat our meals together. He's out of reach.

R.B.

]]>

Quote:Journal,

I've made the biggest mistake of my life. I married a man who doesn't want me. Now I am headed home with his babe in my belly. I do not have much time to write this, even now I am being waved over.

RB

Quote:Journal,

I've met the most wonderful people and I will work for them one day.

RB

Quote:Journal,

So much has happened since the last time I wrote in you, journal. I had my son, Jacob, and I walked away from Angus for good. I got the job at the Blackwood estate and I couldn't be more blessed with my being here.

RB

Quote:Journal,

That no good... rotten scoundrel! That dirty jacknape! I hate him so! Angus is a fool.

RB

Quote:Journal,

E. was very kind to me today. He went to the bar where Angus was and gave him a what for. Thing is, I don't think Angus will even remember. He was sotted. But I think E. cut a heroic figure... standing up to him on my behalf. Oh, journal, I don't know what I am going to do.

RB

Quote:Journal,

When I look at my son, I do not see Angus in him. I only see a young boy version of me. Thank God for that. Thank God for him being such a good child too. He is my world and I love him so very much.

Angus sent me a letter and it was the most pathetic thing I ever read... I will never let him have my boy.

R.B.

Quote:Journal,

E. called me his friend today. I felt as though for one moment I was floating and time was standing still. Whatever I did to deserve his esteem, I am grateful for, but my love for him must remain quiet. I cannot let him find out that my heart beats harder every time I see him or whenever we eat our meals together. He's out of reach.

R.B.

]]> <![CDATA[Hold on to me]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=201 Tue, 28 Jan 2020 21:34:43 +0000 Anne Ward]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=201 https://bywitandwhitby.rpginitiative.com...61#pid6561]

[Content warnings: reference to child abuse, teenage pregnancy]

When Anne arrived at the station, she was sweating and panting. She took a moment to catch her breath, but then ran through the building and on to the platform, where a train was waiting for the steam locomotive to change from the rear to the front. Most people had boarded already, though some were still saying goodbyes.

“Alice! Alice!” Anne shouted out, running along the platform and looking for her sister. Alice was not there. Anne stopped at the end of the train and rested her hands on her knees, closing her eyes and catching her breath once more. She was used to long days of labor and she was strong, but she never did much running, and her corset made her feel out of breath easily.

Anne finally rose again, turned, and slowly walked back past the train, looking inside through the windows. Suddenly she caught sight of her sister in one of the third class compartments. The girl sat by the window, pale and miserable, her checked shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She seemed hardly aware of her surroundings, until she spotted Anne. Alice sat up, frightened, and shook her head wildly. But Anne ran to the door and hurried in. “Alice!” she shouted, pushing her way past a man without even apologizing. “Alice!” she shouted again, when she had reached the compartment. A woman sitting opposite of Alice looked up disapprovingly. “Alice! Have you lost your mind! This is not t’ solution!” The woman cleared her throat

“Anne, get off the train! It’s about to depart!” her sister hissed. She was trembling and her hands clutched her shawl so tight that her knuckles were white. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Father… everyone… I can’t bear to face ‘em, Anne! I have no life here!”

The woman cleared her throat again, but Anne gave her a ‘shut up of die’ glare, before turning back to her sister. “You’ll break father’s heart.”

“I’ll do that either way. Oh, Anne. If you knew the full story, you’d want me gone too. It’s better for everyone!” The woman got up and left them with a final angry stare that was entirely ignored. “Now get off the train,” said Alice, “before it departs.”

“Not without you! It ain’t better!”

“Anne, plea-,”

“You’ll break my heart as well!”

Her sister looked at her, mouth slightly open, and tears welling up in her eyes. Her lip began to quiver. “Oh Anne… Don’t say that…” she said weakly

“It’s true! I’ll die from missing you, and from worrying sick about you!” It wasn’t a lie. The thought of sleeping alone in the bed at night, without the comforting warmth of her sister beside her, a sister of whom she wouldn’t know whether she was alive, or safe, or even where she was… How could she survive that? “Where will you even go!?”

“It don’t matter, Anne! Away from here! I don’t want to leave you, but I have to!”

“We’ll find a solution…”

“I’m a few months along, Anne! I can’t hide it any longer! If father…” she gasped and her whole body seemed to shake. “He’ll beat me to death…” She put her face in her hands and began to cry.

“Don’t say that!” There was the sound of a whistle outside, but Anne sat beside her crying sister and pulled her into an embrace. “He’d never do no real harm.” But a terrifying series of memories forced their way into her mind. She pushed them away. “He’d be disappointed and angry maybe, but he loves you. He wants you to be alright.” Yet she felt sick with anxiety at the mere thought of putting herself in her sister’s shoes and having to tell father. Her sister sobbed.

There was another whistle.

Alice suddenly sat up. “Anne! Go!”

“I won’t!” Anne said, though she was panicking.

“Go!”

“Not without you!”

A loud, long whistle. And then there was no choice. The train began to move. The noise of the wheels being set in motion and picking up the pace drowned out all other sounds for a minute or so.

Silently, Anne watched as the abbey grew smaller and then disappeared along with the rest of town, when they turned a corner. She had never traveled further than Sandsend, three miles out of Whitby, and she had never traveled out of town in this direction. Already everything looked unfamiliar. She turned to her sister. The two girls stared at each other in silent horror. Alice’s hand found Anne’s and they both held on tight.]]> https://bywitandwhitby.rpginitiative.com...61#pid6561]

[Content warnings: reference to child abuse, teenage pregnancy]

When Anne arrived at the station, she was sweating and panting. She took a moment to catch her breath, but then ran through the building and on to the platform, where a train was waiting for the steam locomotive to change from the rear to the front. Most people had boarded already, though some were still saying goodbyes.

“Alice! Alice!” Anne shouted out, running along the platform and looking for her sister. Alice was not there. Anne stopped at the end of the train and rested her hands on her knees, closing her eyes and catching her breath once more. She was used to long days of labor and she was strong, but she never did much running, and her corset made her feel out of breath easily.

Anne finally rose again, turned, and slowly walked back past the train, looking inside through the windows. Suddenly she caught sight of her sister in one of the third class compartments. The girl sat by the window, pale and miserable, her checked shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She seemed hardly aware of her surroundings, until she spotted Anne. Alice sat up, frightened, and shook her head wildly. But Anne ran to the door and hurried in. “Alice!” she shouted, pushing her way past a man without even apologizing. “Alice!” she shouted again, when she had reached the compartment. A woman sitting opposite of Alice looked up disapprovingly. “Alice! Have you lost your mind! This is not t’ solution!” The woman cleared her throat

“Anne, get off the train! It’s about to depart!” her sister hissed. She was trembling and her hands clutched her shawl so tight that her knuckles were white. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Father… everyone… I can’t bear to face ‘em, Anne! I have no life here!”

The woman cleared her throat again, but Anne gave her a ‘shut up of die’ glare, before turning back to her sister. “You’ll break father’s heart.”

“I’ll do that either way. Oh, Anne. If you knew the full story, you’d want me gone too. It’s better for everyone!” The woman got up and left them with a final angry stare that was entirely ignored. “Now get off the train,” said Alice, “before it departs.”

“Not without you! It ain’t better!”

“Anne, plea-,”

“You’ll break my heart as well!”

Her sister looked at her, mouth slightly open, and tears welling up in her eyes. Her lip began to quiver. “Oh Anne… Don’t say that…” she said weakly

“It’s true! I’ll die from missing you, and from worrying sick about you!” It wasn’t a lie. The thought of sleeping alone in the bed at night, without the comforting warmth of her sister beside her, a sister of whom she wouldn’t know whether she was alive, or safe, or even where she was… How could she survive that? “Where will you even go!?”

“It don’t matter, Anne! Away from here! I don’t want to leave you, but I have to!”

“We’ll find a solution…”

“I’m a few months along, Anne! I can’t hide it any longer! If father…” she gasped and her whole body seemed to shake. “He’ll beat me to death…” She put her face in her hands and began to cry.

“Don’t say that!” There was the sound of a whistle outside, but Anne sat beside her crying sister and pulled her into an embrace. “He’d never do no real harm.” But a terrifying series of memories forced their way into her mind. She pushed them away. “He’d be disappointed and angry maybe, but he loves you. He wants you to be alright.” Yet she felt sick with anxiety at the mere thought of putting herself in her sister’s shoes and having to tell father. Her sister sobbed.

There was another whistle.

Alice suddenly sat up. “Anne! Go!”

“I won’t!” Anne said, though she was panicking.

“Go!”

“Not without you!”

A loud, long whistle. And then there was no choice. The train began to move. The noise of the wheels being set in motion and picking up the pace drowned out all other sounds for a minute or so.

Silently, Anne watched as the abbey grew smaller and then disappeared along with the rest of town, when they turned a corner. She had never traveled further than Sandsend, three miles out of Whitby, and she had never traveled out of town in this direction. Already everything looked unfamiliar. She turned to her sister. The two girls stared at each other in silent horror. Alice’s hand found Anne’s and they both held on tight.]]> <![CDATA[The Only Solution]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=200 Sun, 26 Jan 2020 12:39:40 +0000 Jack]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=200

[Content warning: This thread will contain murder, power abuse, reference to prostitution, possible reference to child prostitution, domestic violence and a lot of other cringe-moments]

Was that second drink really necessary? Maybe not. The third certainly wasn’t. But there was still time before his train left and a lot had just happened, and his anxiety about leaving was playing up. He needed some emotional fortification. Simon sat in the corner of the pub. His bag was on the bench beside him. After leaving home, he had gone to say goodbye to a few people and had then ended up here to wait until it was coming to four. Now at last, he could relax. He should focus on the fact that he was leaving this dump. That he would never be mistreated again. That he was going to make a wonderful new life for himself. Of all the opportunities and new experiences that awaited him in York. That he would spend more time with Zech. And they could build up a new life.

Well, and who should walk in right this during this reflection but Christopher Hurley?]]>

[Content warning: This thread will contain murder, power abuse, reference to prostitution, possible reference to child prostitution, domestic violence and a lot of other cringe-moments]

Was that second drink really necessary? Maybe not. The third certainly wasn’t. But there was still time before his train left and a lot had just happened, and his anxiety about leaving was playing up. He needed some emotional fortification. Simon sat in the corner of the pub. His bag was on the bench beside him. After leaving home, he had gone to say goodbye to a few people and had then ended up here to wait until it was coming to four. Now at last, he could relax. He should focus on the fact that he was leaving this dump. That he would never be mistreated again. That he was going to make a wonderful new life for himself. Of all the opportunities and new experiences that awaited him in York. That he would spend more time with Zech. And they could build up a new life.

Well, and who should walk in right this during this reflection but Christopher Hurley?]]> <![CDATA[Odd Ones Out]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=195 Thu, 23 Jan 2020 09:33:48 +0000 Christopher Hurley [deceased]]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=195 can happen; the thread starts out with casual and enabled anti-Semitism and probably just gets worse from there.]

They were at a ritzy hotel lobby, where one of Chris’ other friends were staying – and it was clear that all three men had arrived there well before the time Darius had been given. There was a cheery glow to their faces, and the bartender looked about ready to have them leave three drinks ago.

“Your murderous god will forgive you for another Bloody Mary,” Chris teased a curly-haired man who wrinkled his nose but smiled.

“The point was to make us drink less,” the curly-haired man retorted, but reached immediately for the glass as it was refilled by the red-eyed bartender.

“You said there would be women!” grumbled the third friend, who looked the same age as them. “I’m starting to think you two repel women.”

“It’s against-” Chris started, and the curly haired man joined in with an amused look, “my religion.”

Chris pulled out a cross from his collar – which he had never worn around Darius.

There was a seat open next to Chris.]]> can happen; the thread starts out with casual and enabled anti-Semitism and probably just gets worse from there.]

They were at a ritzy hotel lobby, where one of Chris’ other friends were staying – and it was clear that all three men had arrived there well before the time Darius had been given. There was a cheery glow to their faces, and the bartender looked about ready to have them leave three drinks ago.

“Your murderous god will forgive you for another Bloody Mary,” Chris teased a curly-haired man who wrinkled his nose but smiled.

“The point was to make us drink less,” the curly-haired man retorted, but reached immediately for the glass as it was refilled by the red-eyed bartender.

“You said there would be women!” grumbled the third friend, who looked the same age as them. “I’m starting to think you two repel women.”

“It’s against-” Chris started, and the curly haired man joined in with an amused look, “my religion.”

Chris pulled out a cross from his collar – which he had never worn around Darius.

There was a seat open next to Chris.]]> <![CDATA[Running out of time]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=183 Sat, 11 Jan 2020 11:25:45 +0000 Anne Ward]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=183
[Content warning: Reference to domestic violence and child abuse]

It had been two weeks since Ben and Elijah had had that argument on the quay. It was Sunday afternoon when Anne, with her hair tied in two braids with ribbons, and with her best, green, Sunday dress and white stockings, knocked on Elijah's door. She might be dressed in her finest clothes, but she was out of breath and she looked frightened and upset.]]>
[Content warning: Reference to domestic violence and child abuse]

It had been two weeks since Ben and Elijah had had that argument on the quay. It was Sunday afternoon when Anne, with her hair tied in two braids with ribbons, and with her best, green, Sunday dress and white stockings, knocked on Elijah's door. She might be dressed in her finest clothes, but she was out of breath and she looked frightened and upset.]]> <![CDATA[Stubbornness Is the Strength of the Weak]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=182 Fri, 10 Jan 2020 07:24:01 +0000 Benjamin Ward]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=182
It may have been a month, maybe two months since Ben had fallen out with Elijah. As far as he was aware, none of the children had talked to him since, and he had strictly forbidden them to do so. Now and then, doubt gnawed at him - that he might be on the wrong side, that he was being too harsh, that he missed Elijah. Especially in prayer or in church, doubt, shame even, would plague him. He tried to be more patient with Simon, although his son didn't seem as conciliatory from his side.

Autumn was settling in now, and still Ben refused to reconcile with the person he had once thought of as an own child. At times, his mind went back to Elijah's father, with whom Ben had been closer than brothers. Would he have been disappointed with his friend, for how he was treating Elijah? But Ben would tell himself that he too would have disapproved of Elijah's actions - arresting him, breaking into his family sphere, criticizing him, no, scolding him like he was the parent and Ben the child. Pointing out his so-called wrongdoings. Saying that he was cruel to his children. Being disappointed with Ben. The anger returned whenever he would think of it, and what little remorse had grown during prayer and moments of reflection would evaporate. Ben knew he wasn't wrong. He knew he wasn't cruel. He knew Elijah had no right to be disappointed with him. He had done what he could under the circumstances, when Simon had been in need of some tough love. He was only seeking to protect

It was a Saturday afternoon and he was at the upper harbour with Simon and Will, unloading the boat. He was just heaving up a barrel, when he spotted Elijah passing by. He turned back to the boat to pretend not to see him. Will too suddenly seemed very occupied.
"Hi Elijah!" said Simon.
Ben clenched his teeth together.]]>
It may have been a month, maybe two months since Ben had fallen out with Elijah. As far as he was aware, none of the children had talked to him since, and he had strictly forbidden them to do so. Now and then, doubt gnawed at him - that he might be on the wrong side, that he was being too harsh, that he missed Elijah. Especially in prayer or in church, doubt, shame even, would plague him. He tried to be more patient with Simon, although his son didn't seem as conciliatory from his side.

Autumn was settling in now, and still Ben refused to reconcile with the person he had once thought of as an own child. At times, his mind went back to Elijah's father, with whom Ben had been closer than brothers. Would he have been disappointed with his friend, for how he was treating Elijah? But Ben would tell himself that he too would have disapproved of Elijah's actions - arresting him, breaking into his family sphere, criticizing him, no, scolding him like he was the parent and Ben the child. Pointing out his so-called wrongdoings. Saying that he was cruel to his children. Being disappointed with Ben. The anger returned whenever he would think of it, and what little remorse had grown during prayer and moments of reflection would evaporate. Ben knew he wasn't wrong. He knew he wasn't cruel. He knew Elijah had no right to be disappointed with him. He had done what he could under the circumstances, when Simon had been in need of some tough love. He was only seeking to protect

It was a Saturday afternoon and he was at the upper harbour with Simon and Will, unloading the boat. He was just heaving up a barrel, when he spotted Elijah passing by. He turned back to the boat to pretend not to see him. Will too suddenly seemed very occupied.
"Hi Elijah!" said Simon.
Ben clenched his teeth together.]]> <![CDATA[I'm not supposed to talk to you]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=138 Sun, 13 Oct 2019 19:25:14 +0000 Anne Ward]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=138 <![CDATA[[Somniac] Autumn Quote Challenge]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=135 Tue, 08 Oct 2019 02:42:41 +0000 Anita Longbottom]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=135 Quote Challenge.

# 16: “Listen. No, really listen.”

She was at the local watering hole that she always told her family she wasn’t at. The barkeep looked up from wiping down the counter. She frowned just a hint deeper upon seeing Anita, but turned to fetch another glass.

Yet again, Anita was there ‘til it was just her and the barkeep. Mary, if she recalled. Mary the Unmarried, who had inherited a nice fancy bar with a brick front and most of the vomit cleaned up before it even dried. Beautiful brown eyes that shined brighter than the countertop –

“Listen,” Mary said, frowning even more as she shrugged her hands wide. “No, really listen.”

Anita sat up straight and stared hard, squinting at the way Mary’s figure passed in and out of itself.

“’m listening.”

Mary sighed and put her hands on her hips.

“What did I just say?”

Something about... something. Ghosts or something.

“About the...” Anita smiled and gestured a hand understandingly, hoping this would show she clearly remembered and also coincidentally provide her with the answer.

Mary made a more annoyed sound, shook her head, then smiled.

“Shouldn’t you be finding your family before they find you, Annie?”

They wouldn’t. She always thought they wouldn’t. But some way or another, they found her or she found them again.]]> Quote Challenge.

# 16: “Listen. No, really listen.”

She was at the local watering hole that she always told her family she wasn’t at. The barkeep looked up from wiping down the counter. She frowned just a hint deeper upon seeing Anita, but turned to fetch another glass.

Yet again, Anita was there ‘til it was just her and the barkeep. Mary, if she recalled. Mary the Unmarried, who had inherited a nice fancy bar with a brick front and most of the vomit cleaned up before it even dried. Beautiful brown eyes that shined brighter than the countertop –

“Listen,” Mary said, frowning even more as she shrugged her hands wide. “No, really listen.”

Anita sat up straight and stared hard, squinting at the way Mary’s figure passed in and out of itself.

“’m listening.”

Mary sighed and put her hands on her hips.

“What did I just say?”

Something about... something. Ghosts or something.

“About the...” Anita smiled and gestured a hand understandingly, hoping this would show she clearly remembered and also coincidentally provide her with the answer.

Mary made a more annoyed sound, shook her head, then smiled.

“Shouldn’t you be finding your family before they find you, Annie?”

They wouldn’t. She always thought they wouldn’t. But some way or another, they found her or she found them again.]]> <![CDATA[The orphan]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=131 Fri, 04 Oct 2019 13:43:15 +0000 Benjamin Ward]]> https://bywitandwhitby.com/showthread.php?tid=131