The Darwin Sisters
31 January 2008 00:43![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skonen_bladesThere. On the beach of the Glassapagos islands.
The Darwin Sisters: Rebecca, Sanskrit, Sunita, and Lullaby.
Eccentric to a fault. Their attention to detail and ludicrous theories concerning the origins of tableware were infamous in the courts of Blue Albion. Four pairs of glasses winked white in the sun. Their white chemises fluttered in the silent breeze. The peace was marred now and then by the light scraping of metal and glass on the volcanic glass of the islands.
The Darwin Sisters’ theory of evolution had a chance to be proven here. The Glassapagos islands were cut off from every other silicosm in the world and the islands were neither too large nor too hazardous to cross on foot. A rarity.
Life was abundant on the islands. The ladies focused on photographing, collecting, and recording all of the evolutionary dead ends and keeping them safe in their records for posterity.
Rebecca concentrated on the glassware. So far, her favourite was the silver-ringed Tuscany: a head-sized bulb of glass so thin that it flexed on the air currents. Four rings of silver, two near the top and one near the skirt with the last one glinting in the middle, acted as both conductors and constrictors, pulsing to keep the animal aloft like an airborne jellyfish.
Just one wrong move and the silver-ringed Tuscany shattered on the rocks. The winds were unpredictable but the Tuscany were numerous. Their deaths softly filled the air now and then with a wind-chime exodus of souls.
There was a species of softglass urchin. There were spun-glass tumbleweeds and the manta ray panes. There were even chandelier kites far above the island, soaking in the sun and avoiding danger. Rebecca looked up at them, holding on to her wide brimmed sun hat.
Sanskrit, dozens of yards away, squinted her piggy eyes down at the forkroach she had crawling in her hand, the tines touching her skin. They sensed the dim current she had firing through her human nerves. The fork’s handle curved around in a hoop, no silvertamer’s stamp yet on it.
She took notes on the spoondragons and the knife beetles. Wild cutlery fascinated her so. She had mapped seven separate species of garlic press clattering softly amongst the rocks so far, and she had seen something that looked like a cross between an apple-peeler and a can opener that she named a Scuttlejaw because of its odd locomotion.
There was cutlery here whose uses could only be guessed at. The utensils were improvising, going down paths that deviated from the eventual use at the dinner table. It was fascinating to surmise purpose and entertain notions of genus.
The lensant, for instance, cooked its food with the focused sun’s rays. They were annoying creatures that had peppered her and her sisters' exposed ankles with tiny burns when they first strode ashore from the rowboat. However, when she had held one up over her notebook to take notes on it, the writing beneath the single lens of the insect had come into sharper focus.
Single lens cutlery? Unheard of. This would make the binocular theory clergy go mad. She sweated and smiled in the sun, writing furiously.
Sunita, dark-haired and wandering, had found a nest of Igneous Ocularis ‘Eye-Rocks’. Black rocks with nodules of polished mirror protruding from their skin, blinking as the sun changed position and shutting entirely when Sunita’s shadow fell across them. They were soft and warm to the touch. They cried silently when they were picked up, oily tears soaking the palms of her hands. She loved them.
Lullaby was sitting next what might have been the most exciting discovery of all: a nest of vacuum tubers. She was the youngest. Nearly albino, her long white hair lifted in the soft breezes as the nest of vacuum tubers buzzed and beeped softly. Were they calling for a parent? Trying to communicate with her? Were they aware she was there?
She would have to bring a few back for her Aunt Marconi to look at further.
She set up her daguerreotype to take pictures. Soon she must take the camera to her sister’s sites for another round of photographs and a brief sharing of notes and sychronizing of watches.
They worked in silence, accustomed to each other and comfortable in their shared obsession. These finds would revolutionize dinner tables around Europe.
The ship and her sailors waited offshore for the signal to come and collect the girls. They were only too happy to do so. The young ladies and their passionless stares unnerved the sailors more than any tale of sirens or kraken.
tags
The Darwin Sisters: Rebecca, Sanskrit, Sunita, and Lullaby.
Eccentric to a fault. Their attention to detail and ludicrous theories concerning the origins of tableware were infamous in the courts of Blue Albion. Four pairs of glasses winked white in the sun. Their white chemises fluttered in the silent breeze. The peace was marred now and then by the light scraping of metal and glass on the volcanic glass of the islands.
The Darwin Sisters’ theory of evolution had a chance to be proven here. The Glassapagos islands were cut off from every other silicosm in the world and the islands were neither too large nor too hazardous to cross on foot. A rarity.
Life was abundant on the islands. The ladies focused on photographing, collecting, and recording all of the evolutionary dead ends and keeping them safe in their records for posterity.
Rebecca concentrated on the glassware. So far, her favourite was the silver-ringed Tuscany: a head-sized bulb of glass so thin that it flexed on the air currents. Four rings of silver, two near the top and one near the skirt with the last one glinting in the middle, acted as both conductors and constrictors, pulsing to keep the animal aloft like an airborne jellyfish.
Just one wrong move and the silver-ringed Tuscany shattered on the rocks. The winds were unpredictable but the Tuscany were numerous. Their deaths softly filled the air now and then with a wind-chime exodus of souls.
There was a species of softglass urchin. There were spun-glass tumbleweeds and the manta ray panes. There were even chandelier kites far above the island, soaking in the sun and avoiding danger. Rebecca looked up at them, holding on to her wide brimmed sun hat.
Sanskrit, dozens of yards away, squinted her piggy eyes down at the forkroach she had crawling in her hand, the tines touching her skin. They sensed the dim current she had firing through her human nerves. The fork’s handle curved around in a hoop, no silvertamer’s stamp yet on it.
She took notes on the spoondragons and the knife beetles. Wild cutlery fascinated her so. She had mapped seven separate species of garlic press clattering softly amongst the rocks so far, and she had seen something that looked like a cross between an apple-peeler and a can opener that she named a Scuttlejaw because of its odd locomotion.
There was cutlery here whose uses could only be guessed at. The utensils were improvising, going down paths that deviated from the eventual use at the dinner table. It was fascinating to surmise purpose and entertain notions of genus.
The lensant, for instance, cooked its food with the focused sun’s rays. They were annoying creatures that had peppered her and her sisters' exposed ankles with tiny burns when they first strode ashore from the rowboat. However, when she had held one up over her notebook to take notes on it, the writing beneath the single lens of the insect had come into sharper focus.
Single lens cutlery? Unheard of. This would make the binocular theory clergy go mad. She sweated and smiled in the sun, writing furiously.
Sunita, dark-haired and wandering, had found a nest of Igneous Ocularis ‘Eye-Rocks’. Black rocks with nodules of polished mirror protruding from their skin, blinking as the sun changed position and shutting entirely when Sunita’s shadow fell across them. They were soft and warm to the touch. They cried silently when they were picked up, oily tears soaking the palms of her hands. She loved them.
Lullaby was sitting next what might have been the most exciting discovery of all: a nest of vacuum tubers. She was the youngest. Nearly albino, her long white hair lifted in the soft breezes as the nest of vacuum tubers buzzed and beeped softly. Were they calling for a parent? Trying to communicate with her? Were they aware she was there?
She would have to bring a few back for her Aunt Marconi to look at further.
She set up her daguerreotype to take pictures. Soon she must take the camera to her sister’s sites for another round of photographs and a brief sharing of notes and sychronizing of watches.
They worked in silence, accustomed to each other and comfortable in their shared obsession. These finds would revolutionize dinner tables around Europe.
The ship and her sailors waited offshore for the signal to come and collect the girls. They were only too happy to do so. The young ladies and their passionless stares unnerved the sailors more than any tale of sirens or kraken.
tags