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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Oct 2, 2008 5:58:54 GMT -5
My dearest Iris--
You've no idea how boring an ocean can be until you're on it for over a week. All I can see out my porthole is water as I write this--despite the fact that I won't be able to post it until we reach Martinique. I'll expect your letter there, you know. We're to put in at Martinique for a few weeks before departing for other parts of the East Indies.
As much as I complain about the lack of scenery, I think I may not be so ill-suited to this life after all. Everything's very ordered, in its place, no-nonsense, and though you're quite aware I'm all nonsense, I find it almost comforting to have a routine all the time. The food I'm not even going to mention and my bunkmate smells awful--fair punishment, I suppose, for leaving you in Paris all by your lonesome.
Are you reading that book I gave you? Is it any good? How are you coping without my illustrious presence about? Met anybody new?
I fully expect a seventy-three page letter within the next few weeks, and if I don't have one I won't write you for a whole month and you'll be forced to wonder whether or not I've died or lived or been horribly mosquito-bitten.
Lo
Your friend, Nicolas d'Enjolras
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Post by Iris on Oct 13, 2008 15:36:49 GMT -5
Dear Nicolas,
I know no words that can properly describe how happy I was to receive your letter. It’s rather wrinkled now, because I fold it up and carry it with me wherever I go. When I find myself missing you, which is often, I can take it out and read it to myself. Letters are truly remarkable things. They can capture a person’s soul on a single page, and then send that small part of them to another person. Of course, that may just be your natural talent with words. I can only hope that I’ll be able to create a similar effect on paper, though I’ve already gone through thirteen pages in order to create a letter that was worth sending. Unless my skills at letter writing improve soon, there will be no paper left in Paris!
I’m very glad to hear that you’ve adapted to your new setting, no matter how stinking and unpleasant it is, with relative ease. More importantly, I’m overjoyed that you have not yet been cast out into the ocean by your fellow sailors. You’re an intelligent and hardworking individual when you apply yourself, so I have no doubt that you’ll be able to survive on that ship for another month or two. Mosquitoes, on the other hand, are another matter entirely. My only advice concerning that subject is that you pray you do not tatse very good and they’ll leave you alone.
I must find an atlas so I can locate Martinique and the other places you visit; I may buy one today. It would be a better use of my time than listening to Master Grenouille scold me for sulking around the studio or trying to read Jane Eyre. It’s an interesting book, but it’s horribly gloomy so far because Jane Eyre is an orphan who’s mistreated by her relatives. But a promise is a promise, and I will have the entire thing finished by the time you return. I hope that day comes soon. I was telling the truth when I said I would miss you terribly.
Write back as soon as you get the chance! I’ll be waiting!
Be well and be safe, Iris
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Oct 13, 2008 15:52:13 GMT -5
Dear Iris,
Well, it appears you're even better at flowery language than I am, but that could be because I don't have the attention span to write flowerfully about anything before I get distracted and try to say something amusing, which usually ends up stupid. And don't use all the paper, you silly person, because if you do you'll have nothing to write me on and I will pout. You above all people know how very good I am at pouting.
Martinique is very, very hot. And the mosquitoes have decided that I'm a never-ending buffet of sustenance. This does not surprise me, despite your cruel accusations that I could be anything less than delicious. No malaria, thank God, and no threat of outbreak, because when I try to sleep with a mosquito net I always get tangled in it.
And I don't think anyone will be throwing me overboard, as I'm quite popular among the women of Port-au-Prince--due to a very complicated misunderstanding about an indigenous legend, a prostitute, and a lewd proposition made in very bad creole French by my bunkmate on my behalf (I quite assure you that it was against my will; I suspect she had quite an array of diseases). Supposedly I'm some sort of demi-god, and I think my parents may be the local god of sexual love and a French prostitute. Distressing, yes, but my shipmates appear to be reaping the benefits of an association with me.
Of course as I faithfully and stoically resist all female advances, and receive long letters in a feminine hand, all of my shipmates suspect I have some sort of secret lover at home. Can you imagine? You'll be overjoyed to know I told them that I was having a sinful affair with an art student (wanton women the lot of that bohemian set), and we never intend on getting married and may run off to Italy when I return home to live together in sin.
You scarlet woman, you.
Do try not to get on the next boat to Martinique and kill me, Nicki
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Post by Iris on Oct 13, 2008 16:53:30 GMT -5
Dreadful Nicolas,
It’s amazing that I spend time trying to invent beautiful sentences for you to read as you float God-knows-where around the globe; and all you can do in return is tell me how I’ve evolved into a ‘scarlet woman’ among your peers. You deserve to be eaten alive by nasty, little bugs! Your bunkmate too, for good measure! Luckily for you, I haven’t the money to go to Martinique. If I did, you’d be buried up to you neck in sand and hermit crabs would be slowly turning you into their own personal banquet. You can tell those prostitutes that your wicked, Bohemian mistress promises a similar fate for them as well if they try anything.
Though I can’t say I’m surprised that you’ve achieved the status of ‘demi-god,’ as you so humbly put it, among women. Remember those crowds of girls that would follow you around like dogs after a piece of meat? Well, they’ve all fallen into a very distressing period of mourning for you, Mister Demi-God. Just the other day, I saw Polly Basingstoke in a black veil. I nearly suffocated myself, I was laughing so hard. I wouldn’t be too worried, she’s bound to find a cracker soon and then all will well in the world.
Despite all this, I still find myself missing you and your ridiculous comments. Hopefully, I’ll grow out of this annoying phase as it is very distracting. In the meantime, your distasteful letters will have to do, though I must look very silly when I slap a piece of paper. It’s much more satisfying when I can cuff you in person.
Behave yourself and write back soon.
Your lascivious, secret lover, Iris P.S. Master Grenouille has just found your previous letter and is now grumbling horrifying things underneath his breath. I would be very afraid, if I was you.
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Oct 13, 2008 17:04:59 GMT -5
Dearest wicked bohemian mistress,
I'll have you know that they quite literally think I am a demi-god, complete with following me around and trying to get me to attend some sort of annual indigenous festival. I have a sneaking suspicion it will involve them putting me through a purification process, and I don't want to know what that entails. Oh, and a very frighteningly small costume.
I should really concentrate on learning creole better.
Polly Basingstoke has gone into mourning for me? I feel quite accomplished. Maybe I'll send her a letter, informing her that I have a mistress in Montmartre, and she'll die of a coronary. Be sure to be there, so that you can properly recount it when we see eachother again... after you've done your slapping and cuffing and abuse, that is. Be glad I am a hearty sort of aristocrat, or by now you'd have killed me.
I always did find that Polly would repeat everything one said, in order to avoid actually using her brain, God forbid. And I, woman, am the very soul of taste and wit! Dare insult me again and I shall send Polly after you.
I really would write more, but a particular Zephyrine is chasing after me, and I think she may have a rooster ready to sacrifice in order to prepare me for the ceremony. Also, I think she has syphilis. Must every woman here have syphilis? I can't even live a proper life of sailor sin what with my letters to a devoted lover and my pack of prostitutes. They're sort of like dirty, smelly puppies.
Only not nearly as pettable. In fact the idea repulses me.
All my best, and all my sinful lust, Nicki
PS-I miss pastries. Nobody makes proper pastries here.
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Post by Iris on Oct 14, 2008 21:20:22 GMT -5
Dearest Lusty Sailor,
I can see that I was gravely mistaken when I thought the worst thing you would have to endure overseas would be mad natives chasing you around with poultry. But no pastries, you poor thing! How will ever be able to survive?
I’m being cruel, I know. However, I do know of a way to possibly remedy this unfortunate situation. I’ll order a pastry every time I receive a letter from you. I’ll study this treat for some time, commit every tiny detail to memory, and then describe it in great detail to you. I may even provide illustrations in the corners. That way, you can image what a proper pastry looks and tastes likes!
I’m going mad here without you to entertain me. Is it very obvious? Meg is right. I need to get out of the studio more often.
Wasting away without you, Iris
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Oct 14, 2008 21:37:38 GMT -5
My sweetest siren empress of carnal pleasure,
I had better call you a temptress now, for if you say one more word about pastries I shall be forced to jump ship and swim all the way back to France. And then where would I be?
We make to go around South America in three weeks, and from there, some tropical place called Hawaii as a stopover before heading to the West Indies. Your next letter had better go to the Hawaii address, which I will include. Really we're all still being trained, so unless I get offed by cannibals or die of humiliation after being forced into strange costumes to partake in rituals (I don't think my demi-God status is limited to Martinique; clearly I have some demi-Godlike qualities that would impress anybody), you don't have to worry about me dying.
Tell my sister that I've married an Islander. Or run off with a man. She'll be angry enough to spit, and if you're bored it should make quite a spectacle. Or you could admit to her that you're my Queen of Wanton Lust, but that would be quite dangerous to your own person.
I miss you with the burning passion of a thousand suns, oh tantalizing temptress of sordid pleasures.
No, really, I suspect my bunkmate is afraid of showers. Save me.
Yours eternally, body and soul and sexual favors,
Nicki
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Post by Iris on Oct 19, 2008 15:44:17 GMT -5
My trying, young sailor,
Do you actually work on that ship of yours, or do you spend all your time thinking up new nicknames for me?
Even if you don’t make any effort, you can’t just desert your shipmates for sweets. So you’ll be glad to know that every, single pastry in France has suddenly turned hard as a rock and sweet as a block of salt. They taste awful and will probably kill anyone who has more than one. I sampled a tart the other day, and now my tongue has turned a brilliant shade of purple. Now you can stay on your boat, until they let you come home, and know you aren’t being deprived of anything exceptional.
As for your sister, I’m not nearly bored or brave enough to tell her such upsetting news. Messengers always seem to get the short end of the stick whenever there is a bad report to deliver. If I told your sister that you had run away to Italy with a male islander, much less me, she would tear my throat out. Speaking of Adrienne, have you heard from your family yet? I can’t be the only person sending you letters.
I would gladly come and rescue you from your foul-smelling bunkmate if I could. The best I can do is suggest that you dump a bucket of water on him and try to pass it off as an accident.
Please, Nicki, do not mention death even in jest. I finally found a map and I saw exactly what you have to navigate around. South America is massive and dangerous. I fear for your safety, demi-God or not. How can I stop fretting over you if you don’t take your own security sincerely? You’ll be sorry when you come back and find that my hair has turned gray because of all your joking!
Be careful and write back soon.
Your Queen of Wanton Lust, Iris
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Oct 19, 2008 16:03:03 GMT -5
Dearest Iris--
Training is over, and today I saw a man drown. A pirate ship tried to board ours as we set sail for the coast, and we fired on it. One of them couldn't swim. Not many of us on our ship can swim. What if it had been our ship that had sunk instead of theirs? They had cannons, they had guns, why aren't any of us dead?
I suppose this is quite a change in the nature of my letters, but suddenly nobody's joking anymore, and it doesn't seem right. There's a real danger in this profession that I don't think I considered, and I wish more than anything you were here to slap some sense into me.
Excuse my brevity; we're setting sail soon and I need to help out.
Yours, Nicolas
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Post by Iris on Oct 19, 2008 21:23:59 GMT -5
Dearest Nicolas,
I’ll apologize in advance for the briefness of my own letter; I just wanted this to reach you as soon as possible.
Thank God that you are safe. The minute I read your note, my heart stopped and I couldn’t breathe. I felt terrified and helpless; because I know that I can’t do anything more than offer you words on a scrap of paper. But if I could, I would sprout wings, fly to you, and protect you from any harm. I don’t know what I would do if any hurt ever came to you, Nicki.
When I feel scared and alone, it helps me to know that there are people in my life who care for me. Just know that as long as there is a breath in my body, there is no force in the world that will stop me from caring for you.
And for Heaven’s sake, Nicolas, you do have sense without my help. I beg you -- use it and keep yourself safe.
With all of my heart, Iris
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Oct 19, 2008 21:59:31 GMT -5
Iris--
Don't worry too badly about me, I think perhaps I was just scared. You're quite right, I do have some sense in my head, and I can indeed take care of myself. The rest of the voyage went smoothly, even though the tip of South America is cold. We're stopping over in Hawaii now, and next we'll be in the East Indies. We haven't been told to which French holding we're going, but I'll be sure to write you.
Know that I feel the same, if you should ever find yourself feeling lonely in Paris. My sister writes her perfunctory letters and mentions my father's love, but it helps knowing there's someone I can truly talk to. Or at least write to about something other than tea parties and who's been asking after me.
I miss you, I really do. I miss talking and reading and just sitting with the feeling that someone else is there.
Yours, Nicolas
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Post by Adrienne on Oct 19, 2008 22:01:39 GMT -5
*It was at this point that Adrienne started pulling her strings in the Parisian post office. All letters to Nicolas d'Enjolras from Iris Fisher and vice-versa would be pulled... and put into Adrienne's custody.*
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Post by Iris on Oct 19, 2008 22:50:13 GMT -5
Beloved Nicolas,
Of course I ask after you, you silly boy. You worry me to death and no amount of your calming words is going to change that! I’m just glad that you’re feeling better and that you have your feet on dry land again. I have never been too fond of boats and my liking for them has drastically worsened since you’ve left.
I miss you dreadfully as well, Nicki. I especially miss your smile. The way it would brighten up the gloomiest room, and make me want to laugh and forget about all the horrible things in the world. There were times, when I still lived in Holland, when I didn’t feel that I would ever be loved in the slightest bit. I was ugly and uneducated and obscure. I read your letters and I can hardly believe I ever felt that way. You are truly my dearest friend, Nicki. I want you to come home.
With all my love, Iris
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Post by Nicolas d'Enjolras on Oct 19, 2008 22:56:47 GMT -5
Dearest Iris--
I must confess I'm getting nervous at the period of time between your letters. In case you didn't get my address I'll send you this one, where I will be for at least three weeks.
I miss you. Write back soon, or I could go stark raving mad.
Yours, Nicki
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Post by Iris on Oct 19, 2008 23:02:42 GMT -5
Dear Nicolas,
Have you arrived at your new post yet? I haven’t gotten a reply to my last letter, and I sent it to the address you gave me.
I hope everything is fine and that you are in the best of health. Please reply as soon as you receive this letter. I’m getting worried and I want to speak with you. Or write to you. Whichever.
With my heart and soul, Iris
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