July 22, 1891.
Five weeks ago when I last wrote in this journal, I believed my life had settled into a rather predictable routine. Longing to leave the strange, dark London, yet not imagining how it would be possible, I resolved to make the most of my life and to enjoy what I could to my utmost ability.
Much has changed since then and new possibilities are on the horizon. With the temporary assistance of an Apothecary apprentice, I moved forward with the lotion crafting. We gathered seaweed from the shallow waters in TornOak and also went salmon fishing in the streams. My injuries from slipping on the rocks have healed and I’ve been moving about quite well.
My home at Number Ten, Beyond Darkness is gone, as is Foxtrotter and Grey’s, Katherine’s flat and other familiar places that have been a part of my life. My belongings have all been transported to my cottage here in TornOak, including the fishing equipment I’d ordered from Jackson Barnes, my scrying ball and this journal.
I cannot help but wonder if I’d left this journal behind, and if it had survived the rift and landed in some other place and time, would it be considered as fiction or the ramblings of a madwoman? Perhaps it would be as a note in a bottle thrown into the ocean? No matter, it is here with me now.
My goodbyes were said including to Borris, the spectre and gentleman who always had a cordial word for me at The Black Rose Cafe. He told me he is retiring to a place where fashionable men’s clothing is always available. When I inquired if he tells a different story to everyone, he remained silent in answer. We embraced, I disentangled my hair and necklace from his clavicle and ribs and then went on my way.
Life has been peaceful here of late. I commune with the goddess and go about my days with the small ways I so enjoy. Sometimes small ships come to the shore and I converse with those from far away. It was a great surprise to discover the occupant of one such vessel was someone I’d known in Northern Africa when we’d worked for the trading company.
A textile merchant who escaped with his life as did I after the troubles there, he told me of news that had never reached me and much of it is quite amazing indeed. I fear it has stirred my Roma blood and caused me to wish to travel the worlds even as I know it’s quite dangerous for a human alone.
That makes me laugh–I must get used to not speaking of races other than human if I’m to travel to Algiers. I must seem quite odd as it is already.
I’ve questioned some of the crews of the other small ships to determine if I might indeed safely travel. While Northern Africa seems quite a daunting destination at this time, I’ve heard references to a place called Serenity Falls. When I become fretful in this place and crave a bit of adventure, I might pack my small scrying ball, some lotion bottles and travel there in order to utilize my business skills. Dearly, I would love to see some of the lands I’ve only but read of.
My Avian companion, Lucas is well and continues to return to me. The sunshine and fresh produce here has given me a robust sort of health and my emotional pains are fading. It is a grand thing indeed to have the gift of life and choice.
My character Pearl, took a final stroll through the Vamporium sim in Second Life. I’m posting about it now because I doubt if I’ll want to do a rehashing, post-mortem later. The pictures are rather dark, as are the ones posted on my flickr page. As I’ve mentioned before, if I wait until I’m proficient at everything I’ll never get anything done.
The Vamporium sim was supposed to go “poof” at midnight SLT last night. I’m surprised to see it still standing as of now. Perhaps someone else has taken it over without the demolishing and rebuilding of it, for how long I don’t know. Most of the people in Legacies 1891 appear to enjoy very dark roleplay, where I do not and Vamporium is an excellent place for that sort of thing. If it’s a group of people, well good luck with that. That may sound cynical, but I’ve been aware of much behind-the-scenes drama in my brief experience in Second Life.
Regular readers of this blog have likely noticed that I tend to look towards solutions, the light side and that I believe most of the chaos in the world is a shift towards a more evolved way of life. Things don’t transform until we’re aware of them and I don’t care to spray paint pink color and glitter all over poop and call it good.
I’m certainly not an expert at the things I blog about here. We teach what we most need to learn and this is what has my attention. My perceptions and awareness that arises from the weird virtual reality that is Second Life is nothing that anyone wants to listen to inworld, hence the blog. When a reader finds it useful, inspiring, entertaining or even if they disagree which clarifies something for them, that’s icing on the cake for me.
Just as in real life, sim ownership takes more work than might first appear. I’ve often been an outsider looking in, both in real life and SL. When people are involved in a project and no one’s on the same page and a few have to take up the slack and get burned out, things can dissolve quickly and sometimes after ugly words. It’s even easier when it’s something like Second Life.
I’ll keep an eye on this. Of course, there’s much I don’t see behind the scenes and I have no intention of making this about gossip and other character’s privacy. Everyone eventually needs to learn how to effectively engage in group endeavors, whether in this timeline or another.
Pearl said her good byes and good wishes to Borris, a NPC in the roleplay sim Legacies 1891. Borris was always consistent and served her many Roast Beef Sandwiches and Turkish Coffees.
Once she got past the creepiness of his appearance, she’d look forward to a good meal at the Black Rose after she’d been working in Foxtrotter and Grey’s, stomping rats or giving direction and advice to the unfortunates who’d found themselves in the dark city.
Borris told her that he’s retiring and would be travelling to a place where there are very fashionable men’s clothing available at all times. He poured them both a glass of fine red wine and they shared a toast to the future. Pearl drank to that and Borris would have too, if he had lips.