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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Mar 1, 2012 19:34:39 GMT
It couldn't be more than three past two, and Bramsfield had heard that today was Amelia's scheduled therapy. Like the good hawk he was, soon he had made his way to the Bathing Chambers to collect her. Three weeks it had been, now, and he was slightly sore-minded to think that she hadn't behaved for him. She was his, now, right? Though nobody could know of their union.
Maybe she was just another trap. A woman like Wynter was. She'd gain her freedom throug his heart and through his groin, and then she'd bolt like the sneaky, frightened rat that she may be. But could he take the risk. The decision was made when he opened the door to the bath chambers and peered down the long room, looking for familiar dark hair amongst the fading hair of longer-resided inmates.
"Excuse me, Doctor Pennsley," he spoke to the attendant of the hall, "I'm looking for Amelia."
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Mar 2, 2012 21:08:10 GMT
Amelia's head turned when she heard the sound of her name. Her eyes should have been wide with fright, but she knew that voice. She was shivering in the white shift and stockings that stuck to her. Her hair had long since dried out and was, on the bright side, clean. However, the doctors had been noticing her depressed air of late and concluded that the phase could be ended by trapping her in a tub of freezing water up to her neck. She couldn't tell them that the bath made her no less suicidal and that if they really cared about her, they would have just tied a stone around her throat and thrown her in the tub instead of chaining her in it to where she couldn't pull her own head underwater.
She had been standing—mostly soaked—under the supervision of Dr. Pennsley for quite some time, about ready to be put back in the tub for another round. Her thin shoulders were slumped slightly and one of the Chasers held her by a leather collar since he didn't want to bother with manacles that were too big for her wrists. He kept giving her odd, gleeful little glances; tugging at the leash attached to the collar a bit every now and then as though trying to compel her through light force to get down on her knees. More than half of her felt like she might as well because there was no hope anymore. What little fight still smoldered in her wouldn't let her do it, and made her want to bite him instead.
Amelia's eyes found Bramsfield's from across the chamber and her lips parted. She couldn't look pleased to see him with so many people around, but there was the tiniest bit of light in her eyes now instead of complete darkness.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Mar 3, 2012 5:46:48 GMT
"But sir, she's not quite finished with her--" Doctor Pennsley interjected his boss's demands, interrupted in turn by Doctor Bramsfield.
"I care not where she is in her therapy, William," he paused a moment to let the informal address sink in, "Hand her over to me this instant."
Though it took some reluctancy, the leash was handed to the pale, frail hands of the headmaster, and he grinned in triumph, square jaw held high as he tugged her away and out of the bathing chambers. When they were free of supervision, he unclipped the collar and carelessly cast aside. It was good to see her clean, lest she would have taken a hot bath from him either way, and he tossed a clean, dry shift into her hands.
"I think you'll want to put this on. Let's get you upstairs and dried off, hmm?" He said, quietly but firmly, "I have my son demanding you by name. Or. By 'Ammy' at the least. It seems he remembers you from your last visit. Do come and stay the evening?" He gave a curt bow, only circumstantial despite their positions in society cersus each other.
Though he could not voice nor express it, there was a certain urgency that burned away in the pit of his stomach. Had she lost interest in him, or would she soon be begging his name in the whispers of passion? Half of him hoped she'd cast him off, which would save him from further troubles, and half of him ached painfully for the touch of her young and innocent fingers yet again.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Mar 4, 2012 8:29:38 GMT
"Thank you, Sir." Amelia took the dry shift gratefully and her chilled skin ached to put the warm garment on. Although she had a feeling that if this time went anything like the last, she wouldn't be wearing it for long. Her hand rubbed the place where the collar had been gingerly. At least this doctor didn't seem in the mood to tie her up at the moment.
When the man bowed and offered his request, Amelia automatically made a move to curtsy out of habit before she realized that curtsying with a wet skirt wouldn't exactly have the effect she wanted. So she compensated with a nod. "I would be happy to join you for the evening."
The little part of her that still tried at hope told her that her time with the doctor might just help to pull her out of the black hole she seemed to have fallen into. He would have to try a bit harder this time to get her desire to stir from within the depression. At the very least, he could make her want to survive again.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Mar 4, 2012 15:04:11 GMT
"Then come to me" said the tall, gaunt man, bearing open arms for the damp, depressed girl.
The embrace would be awkward with his height, but he didn't much care. All he wanted was an embrace, to hold her to him, to remind himself that not everybody in this godforsaken place wanted him dead. When they had held each other for a few moments, he withdrew hearing the sounds of boots stomping down the hallway. That would be another doctor or possibly a brothel patron. The empty place that their separation left jerked harshly at his heart, but he coduldn't have spared another moment. He quickly snared a hand around the shoulder strap of her shift and tugged firmly but gently.
"Play along, please." He whispered before stepping in the direction of his office two floors up, "you filthy brat! Such a disgrace to this institution! Come with me, 'tis punishment time."
He tugged the girl down the hallway, passing surprisingly many doctors on their way back to his office. Maybe it was an uprising. Nevertheless, none but Greavesly stopped to question, but the hulking surgeon merely gazed Amelia up and down with those rakish eyes before grunting heavily and walking past.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Mar 6, 2012 2:58:18 GMT
Amelia nodded silently to the doctor when he took hold of the shoulder of her shift. She let him drag her along, throwing in a bit of helpless flailing to make the effect more realistic. The other doctors watched with amusement as she was led away to her supposed "doom", some of them looking quite enthusiastic about it. Before they disappeared around the hallway Amelia heard several dark laughs and a loud wolf-whistle as one of the more hedonistic young physicians shouted, "Don't beat her around too much, Bramsfield! I want something delectable left to lash to my bed when you're through!"
Something twisted in the pit of Amelia's stomach. It wasn't long before they ran into The Butcher himself, and as depressed as she was, Amelia couldn't hold back the look of absolute loathing that burned across her face. She stared right back into the monster's eyes as his own moved up and down her body. She knew what he was thinking. Probably how attractive she would look with a long, open red slit cut from her throat to her belly. The anger was almost enough to move her a bit in the ice that was holding her spirit down. The Butcher had killed her friends. That was unforgivable. He would want to see her broken, too.
Once the hulking, fiery-haired beast had lumbered away, Amelia found herself moving closer to Bramsfield. He had embraced her before for a moment and she needed to feel something. Mostly, she needed to get the chance to breathe around a man who wasn't thinking about how to destroy her.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Mar 6, 2012 3:44:30 GMT
"He knows his place here. He lays a hand on you, he loses his job, and thus his reputation. If the outside world knew of his misdeeds...or mine for that matter..." he trailed off as he led his companion inside to the warm foyer of his office, where a homely fire was burning in the hearth, before which sat a transfixed Aeodhan who watched the flamed with his childish curiosity.
"I think you need to warm yourself up" Edward said softly, rubbing her arms briskly to warm her chilled skin, "You're soaking wet. Come, sit."
He walked by himself to the fireside, giving her the choice to make on her own. He sat with his back to the hindside of a high-backed chair on which he leaned, sitting close to his son on his right, leaving the other side of him open for his lover's company, however little or great her love may have been. He couldn't help but notice the light that had somewhat bloomed when they entered the locked solitude of his office, a world away from the cold stone asylum around them.
Maybe it was just relief, or maybe it was something more, but more than just his heart was aching desperately for what was to come tonight, be it merely tea time together, or another adventure into the forbidden. Whatever the urge, he wished it would disappear. No use spoiling his son's innocence should the child's eyes wander to something that may soon have become more obvious.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Mar 8, 2012 23:21:08 GMT
Amelia excused herself momentarily to change into the dry shift before returning to the room. It would be counterproductive to become ill now due to cold, or to make the child sick. She couldn't have that. Walking back in with the fresh white fabric floating around her, Amelia knelt to Aeodhan's eye level and lightly tickled the little boy's chin. The reaction was worth it. No matter how down she was at the moment, his giggle and blushing baby smile were infectious.
After that was taken care of, Amelia rose and took her seat next to Bramsfield. The heat from the fire sunk into her bone marrow and she sighed with a small shiver. After several hours of Hydrotherapy for a week, one forgot what being unfrozen felt like. The silver locket that was tucked beneath the collar of the shift absorbed the radiation of the flames. It pressed heatedly against her white throat, creating a little circle of concentrated warmth. Had she been manic or in the best of spirits, now would have been the time when she would have begun to whisper poetry in the doctor's ear. Perhaps it could happen later on. If he was lucky.
Amelia snuggled into Bramsfield's side, her dark hair cascading down the man's shoulder.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Mar 9, 2012 0:59:34 GMT
"I'm so glad you're back" he said softly, running his long fingers through her deep, dark hair, combing out the dripping locks so that they would dry out faster.
He so hoped that the night would warm up when she did. He'd longed for this for three weeks. Three long weeks. And now here she was again. He pulled her closer, pressing a chaste kiss onto her lips when his son shuffled innocently to his blanket cocoon in the corner of their small floor space, where he snuggled up close with a tired yawn.
"What can I do to help you?" He said softly "How can I cheer you up, my love? Perhaps some wine? Warm tea?" He said, transfixed by those luminous eyes that gazed up at him with pain, "Maybe I'll hold you for two nights this time, hmm?"
He peered to a drowsy Aeodhan, who was slowly falling asleep amidst the blankets, and then back to his lover. She was shivering, and one could see she was uncomfortable. But all the same, she was stunningly beautiful. He didn't understand what drew him in so much, but she did. He wanted those lips. He wanted to see that light in her eyes again. He couldn't help finding his kisses draw more and more frequently. He couldn't let go. Couldn't pull away.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Mar 11, 2012 7:25:23 GMT
Amelia let him kiss her and felt another little stirring in her heart. He was doing so much for her. He genuinely cared for her. That in itself was more than touching. Even though she was still a bit numb, everything that he was doing made her feel like there was at least one person who would hold her back from taking her own life. That made suicide more difficult. Perhaps she would stay, for him, if not for anyone else.
Finding his face, Amelia's fingers brushed over the doctor's lips and the temples near those emerald eyes. Part of her felt a bit self-conscious. She had lost weight since their last encounter, and was even thinner than she already had been. That wouldn't add to her figure or appeal any. But she would try to make the most of it.
When Bramsfield mentioned tea, her reaction surprised even herself. Normally it was something that Amelia longed for because it was a comfort. Instead she shook her head. She needed food, but it wasn't something that she was hungry for at the moment. Her appetite was on a low. There was really only one thing that she could think of to ask of him.
Amelia kissed him gently on the ear before laying her head back against his chest to hear his pulse. "Tell me about your music."
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Mar 11, 2012 14:26:53 GMT
"My music?" He said softly, tenor voice echoing in his chest, "Well...I began violin at a young age. Can't remember how young, now. It was my grandmother's violin, though I do not recall ever meeting the woman. I used it as an escape from my parents, for with my fiddle, I could take it into town and play for an audience somewhere on a street corner."
He looked from his violin on a bookshelf to the back of his office to Amelia and back again, closing his eyes and resting his chin peacefully on her head "Do you mean to ask me to play for you?"
A playful smile played at the corner of his thin lips and he sunk with gratitude---or, rather, he rose---into a wonderfully high mood. This one was new. He'd never experienced the potent energy this change brought upon him! His hands shivered a bit as he stroked Amelia's small waist, and he felt the need to leap up and grab the wooden instrument.
"Just relax here for a moment" he said brightly, gently shifting her from his embrace to lean upon the chair behind her.
He grabbed his toddler son gently, lifting him from his drowsed cocoon within the old plaid blanket, and carried him into his bedroom to settle him in for the night. In a few moments he returned, snatching up his violin on the way back. "So. What songs do you enjoy, my beauty?"
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Mar 14, 2012 7:28:09 GMT
Amelia watched the change come over the doctor's face with amusement. It was hard to remain completely out of cheer when the man before her was suddenly so caught up in it. Perhaps the love of music was something that made their bond as strong as it was. After Aeodhan was safely ensconced in his blankets, the two were free to be alone together. Amelia smiled as Bramsfield took up his instrument, noticing how his hands held the bow with a certain grace that more than drew her in. It was the same way that people who knew her said that she held a pen or a paintbrush in her hand when she was immersed in her art and writings.
"I'm quite a fan of Beethoven, as cliche as that may sound," Amelia answered a bit shyly. "His 'Eroica'. Although I like Massenet's 'Thais, opera: Meditation' as well." She looked at the doctor's fingers with her lips parted slightly. Maybe, just maybe, he could help her feel again. "If you have any pieces of your own composition, however, I would consider it more of an honor to hear."
There was a moment of pure atmospheric texture that lingered around the two of them now. It was the waiting, the knowledge that once he started playing, something wonderful would happen. Amelia felt a pulse in her chest that didn't seem like so much of a burden. He was older than she, had heard more of the world. She had turned seventeen in the Asylum and was certainly no twelve-year-old child. But the gap and attraction seemed to still line up in syncopation. In this room, lit by fireplace and gaslight, she was his nymphet and he belonged to her alone.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Mar 14, 2012 14:30:41 GMT
"And what shall I earn by entertaining you?" He smirked as he struck the devil's chord across the strings, a visible shudder rocking his body "How about one of my own creations? I've played this for many an audience."
He looked on at his lover, warmed by the fire and her admiration, and began a liltingly chilling tune which drifted somewhere between erotically seductive and discordially joyful. The key was minor with the occasional major chord shrieking through the turmoil of trilling tritones. His eyes burned with fire and his hips rocked in rhythm as he tapped his foot, lapsing into a long and drawn out romantic bridge, all at once his eyes catching hers and sticking there like burning napalm.
When Doctor Bramsfield had finished his song, he looked on at her, panting heavily but silently in relief of the stress off his joints. In the song, he had been possessed by some phantasmagorical dancing spirit, but now he stood still in anticipation of her response.
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Post by Amelia Jacobson on Mar 15, 2012 5:00:48 GMT
When he had asked her what his reward would be for entertaining her, a tiny smirk found light on Amelia's mouth. "What shall you earn? You'll earn what you give, whatever that may be."
The ghost of elusiveness left her suddenly when the music started. She had been so hopeless of late. So beaten down by her own mind that not even her old loves of song could mend her. This only worked because it was something new entirely, something that she had not expected at all. Her depression was not familiar with the melody that emerged from Bramsfield's violin and was powerless to resist. It was not lifted entirely, but the whirl of sensations that followed was almost enough to shatter everything.
People who did not know her would never in a million years understand her reaction. Amelia's eyes widened, then the lids drooped closed. A gasp emitted from her lips and a shiver wracked her body between her shoulder blades, all the way down and through her. She could only listen as the music tugged at her soul and plucked each heart-string. The minor key felt like it was weaving into her hair like sweet-smelling flowers. Then the sudden shifts to major would be almost too passionate to bear, and her insides thrilled at it. When the doctor reached the bridge and met her eyes, she was already trembling. The violin made her ache with a kind of pain that only came when something was too beautiful to be real. Her whispered, barely audible moan was covered over by the piece's ending notes.
The music ceased and there were only two sounds in the room. One was the doctor's panting breaths. The other was the pounding of Amelia's heart against her throat. Her eyes were open. He was waiting for her to respond but she couldn't speak.
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Post by Dr. Edward Gideon Bramsfield on Mar 15, 2012 11:10:52 GMT
"It wasn't THAT special" he let out a tender chuckle and knelt beside her, setting aside his fiddle to take her hands, "are you alright?"
His heart, too, was pounding in sync with her own. It had been a long time since he'd played his favourite, nameless, piece. And her reaction was all but stunning. She seemed taken by the music, sheerly possessed by some dybbuk of pleasure that rocked her spine. His lips curled again into a smile "Oh Amelia..."
He was glad to have made her happy. He stroked her cheek for a moment and fiddled away with the strings on his instrument on the off chance she would ask for another song. Now, he couldn't resist the chance to woo her again.
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