Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Ballad of Mona Lisa
Blanche Salisbury looked down at the beautiful nosegay that rested on her lap. “Oh Clarence, they're lovely!” She brought the flowers up to her nose and breathed in the scent of roses.
“Yellow for the joy I feel every time I see you!” Mayor Harold Wilford of Peaktown, Illinois sat down on the couch next to his darling fiance. She smiled at him from a creamy face framed by golden curls, her small frame only taking up a small space on the sofa. He smiled back at her, secretly relieved that he found a flower to appropriately convey his feelings for her: joy, joy and friendship. The yellow rose portrayed little passion, and that was perfectly suitable for the two of them. They were both marrying more for convenience than love. Her, a good family, him the mayor and both with a tidy sum of money resting safely in the bank.
They sat in awkward silence, not sure of what to say next. They would have remained that way for a good while if it weren't for the interruption at the parlor door. “Blanche! Oh Blanche, have I got news for you!” A whirlwind of a red head rushed through the door and planted herself on the couch between the two “lovers”. “Oh hello, Harold!” She nodded briefly at the man before she directed her full attention back to her friend. “My friend Mary is coming to visit me tomorrow from Chicago! And I tell you, as soon as her train comes in we are all gonna meet at my house and have a great party! Oh it will be so much fun!”
“Well Ingrid,” Blanche tried her best to collect her thoughts after the rush of words. “That really is good news! I'm very excited to meet her and Harold,” she looked pointedly at her now annoyed fiance, “and I will be happy to go to your party and meet your friend.”
“Oh splended, Blanche!” Ingrid clapped her hands in excitement and gathered herself up from the couch. “Well I must be off, I have so much preparation to do! You know, it's no easy task throwing a suitable party for a city girl like Mary! I'm simply beside myself in all the chaos, but oh I should pull through alright,” her words continued on like this in a steady stream as she left the parlor and walked out onto the street ready to tell others the exciting news.
“I remember when people used to talk about me like that,” Harold stroked his brown mustache in bewilderment trying his best to recover from hurricane Ingrid. He was a barrel chested man, as steadfast and sturdy in posture and carriage as he was in his ideals. A man who had come to terms that he was no longer growing up, but simply growing old; a stark comparison to his young and willowy wife to be. He looked about the room and settled for himself that there was nothing left for him to do there and rose from the couch. “Well I'll be off then, I will pick you up tomorrow around seven. I have to go see a certain Crackitus Potts about a disturbance at the old church.” He patted Blanche once on the head and left without another word.
Blanche sat alone in the violet room fingering the flowers on her lap with gentle fondness. Everything seemed to be going well for her so far, she took life slowly and cautiously and her gentle spirit won her an easy lifestyle with little pain and a quiet peace. Everyone knew this about her, and one could not be mistaken in reading her by her cover. With Blanche, what you saw was what you got. It was only fair that others treated her with as much dignity and politeness that she carried herself. She was about to find out, however, that not all play fairly and by the rules. And the fates had set their sights on painting a future for her as vivid and complex as that velvet room in Chicago.
-
The train had been stopped at the station to load more passengers for long enough period of time for the black haired woman to pain her nails while many bustled past her private cab. She drew another sweep across her nail with the small brush and smiled in satisfaction at the dark color. Outside the whistle blew and a final boarding was called for. She settled back comfortably in her seat as the train began to lurch forward. Across from her, a young pale man sat looking out the window with his chin resting in his hand. There was no point in glaring at her for the long ride, so he had given up his attempts at showing his ire and sat in resignation.
There was a knock at the door and a conductor stepped partially into the cab. “Mary Flinn?” The woman nodded her head. “A telegram was waiting for you at the station.” She accepted the paper and read it silently to herself. Across the cab the spirit glanced curiously at her. “A party, hm? Well that should be a delightful headache!” She laughed in derision and leaned her head back, closing her eyes to sleep.
“Yellow for the joy I feel every time I see you!” Mayor Harold Wilford of Peaktown, Illinois sat down on the couch next to his darling fiance. She smiled at him from a creamy face framed by golden curls, her small frame only taking up a small space on the sofa. He smiled back at her, secretly relieved that he found a flower to appropriately convey his feelings for her: joy, joy and friendship. The yellow rose portrayed little passion, and that was perfectly suitable for the two of them. They were both marrying more for convenience than love. Her, a good family, him the mayor and both with a tidy sum of money resting safely in the bank.
They sat in awkward silence, not sure of what to say next. They would have remained that way for a good while if it weren't for the interruption at the parlor door. “Blanche! Oh Blanche, have I got news for you!” A whirlwind of a red head rushed through the door and planted herself on the couch between the two “lovers”. “Oh hello, Harold!” She nodded briefly at the man before she directed her full attention back to her friend. “My friend Mary is coming to visit me tomorrow from Chicago! And I tell you, as soon as her train comes in we are all gonna meet at my house and have a great party! Oh it will be so much fun!”
“Well Ingrid,” Blanche tried her best to collect her thoughts after the rush of words. “That really is good news! I'm very excited to meet her and Harold,” she looked pointedly at her now annoyed fiance, “and I will be happy to go to your party and meet your friend.”
“Oh splended, Blanche!” Ingrid clapped her hands in excitement and gathered herself up from the couch. “Well I must be off, I have so much preparation to do! You know, it's no easy task throwing a suitable party for a city girl like Mary! I'm simply beside myself in all the chaos, but oh I should pull through alright,” her words continued on like this in a steady stream as she left the parlor and walked out onto the street ready to tell others the exciting news.
“I remember when people used to talk about me like that,” Harold stroked his brown mustache in bewilderment trying his best to recover from hurricane Ingrid. He was a barrel chested man, as steadfast and sturdy in posture and carriage as he was in his ideals. A man who had come to terms that he was no longer growing up, but simply growing old; a stark comparison to his young and willowy wife to be. He looked about the room and settled for himself that there was nothing left for him to do there and rose from the couch. “Well I'll be off then, I will pick you up tomorrow around seven. I have to go see a certain Crackitus Potts about a disturbance at the old church.” He patted Blanche once on the head and left without another word.
Blanche sat alone in the violet room fingering the flowers on her lap with gentle fondness. Everything seemed to be going well for her so far, she took life slowly and cautiously and her gentle spirit won her an easy lifestyle with little pain and a quiet peace. Everyone knew this about her, and one could not be mistaken in reading her by her cover. With Blanche, what you saw was what you got. It was only fair that others treated her with as much dignity and politeness that she carried herself. She was about to find out, however, that not all play fairly and by the rules. And the fates had set their sights on painting a future for her as vivid and complex as that velvet room in Chicago.
-
The train had been stopped at the station to load more passengers for long enough period of time for the black haired woman to pain her nails while many bustled past her private cab. She drew another sweep across her nail with the small brush and smiled in satisfaction at the dark color. Outside the whistle blew and a final boarding was called for. She settled back comfortably in her seat as the train began to lurch forward. Across from her, a young pale man sat looking out the window with his chin resting in his hand. There was no point in glaring at her for the long ride, so he had given up his attempts at showing his ire and sat in resignation.
There was a knock at the door and a conductor stepped partially into the cab. “Mary Flinn?” The woman nodded her head. “A telegram was waiting for you at the station.” She accepted the paper and read it silently to herself. Across the cab the spirit glanced curiously at her. “A party, hm? Well that should be a delightful headache!” She laughed in derision and leaned her head back, closing her eyes to sleep.
Sign up to rate and review this story