Ok. It's the New Year.
( more stuff, yeah )

The music began indoors. Sklav music! Genie pouted, swinging round to face the yellow glow from the doors. Wild, cacophonous, with its eccentric rhythms, it stirred unease in her. Annat would play the vyel as if she had learnt none of the subtleties of refined music, and Coty – a nonne – would shoulder her accordion as boldly as a man.
 Genie stepped in through the French windows. The band had taken the place of Madame’s orchestra. There was a clarinet, a raucous bombarde, the hurdy-gurdy with its plangent drone, and Annat and her father sitting side-by-side, each with a vyel balanced on their knees and no music in front of them. They played these tunes from memory, like rustics. Coty was standing beside them, her wimple pushed back to show a little of her brown hair, beating time with her foot.
 It did not please Genie to notice that she was one of a handful of guests choosing to sit out; most of the others were elderly. Madame la Comtesse was in the melee, beside Malchik; even the dour Yuste had taken to the floor with her husband. Genie decided that the rest of the evening must be dreary indeed if she were to sit here with no one to amuse her. As she yawned, there was a commotion outside the double doors leading to the ballroom, which were suddenly flung back. The music faltered and then stopped. Genie turned her head to see a man stride into the room, followed by anxious flunkies in peruques who were too timid to stop him.
 Genie guessed who he was, though she had never met him. Tall, clean-shaven, dark-haired, he wore a long redingote with shoulder cape, and a steep-crowned hat. The leather heels of his shoes clacked on the parquet, and his spurs jinked as he walked. She could see his dress sword pushing out the skirts of his coat as it swung at his hip. This was the Comte de Fleury, the cuckolded husband, returning to confront his unfaithful wife.
 The crowd of guests swept into two halves to let him pass; the musicians set down their instruments. Madame la Comtesse stood before the dais with Malchik at her side, watching her husband’s approach. The Count stopped a few paces from them, and did not take off his hat. He looked from his wife to Malchik and back. Then he strode forward and struck Malchik lightly across the cheek with the kid glove he held in his right hand, before letting it fall to the floor.
 “Sir,” he said, “You have dishonoured my wife, and my family name. I demand satisfaction.”
 Genie found herself trembling inside. From where she was standing, she could not see Malchik’s face, but she heard his answer.
 “Sir, you shall have it. Outside the Ecurie at dawn, seven days from today.”
 “Will you choose your weapons?” said the Comte. He had to speak up, because his wife had started to sob, tugging at Malchik’s sleeve and protesting that he must not meet this challenge.
 “Pistols,” said Malchik, putting his arm round the Comtesse. “And now, sir, if your business here is finished, I must ask you to leave. Madame la Comtesse has received a shock; I wish to summon her maids.”
 The Comte de Fleury replied with a short bow, turned on his heel and strode from the room, looking neither to right nor left; but Genie glimpsed the high colour on his tan cheek.
 As soon as the flunkies had closed the doors behind him, there was a rush of shouting and sound. Genie hung back, seeing Annat put down her vyel and run to her brother’s side, shouting, “Malchku! Are you mad?” She was not alone. Friends of the Comtesse, friends of Malchik, all crowded round, some to minister to the weeping woman, others to demand that Malchik offer a straightforward apology and decline the duel. As Genie moved to the edge of the circle, she saw Malchik’s face. He had gone pale – for like her, he coloured easily – but his mouth had set into a thin line. He hugged the Comtesse against him, but he stared over the assembled heads towards the doors that had shut behind his rival. Genie turned the other way and found herself looking at Yuda, still sitting amongst the empty chairs with his vyel balanced on his knee. He was watching his son, and behind him, like a silver shadow, stood Huldis, resting her hand on the back of his chair.

Have had rather a run of bad luck selling my dolls. I've had two buyers pull out of buying Bernard - one of them after assuring me I could have the cash tomorrow - and then he didn't sell on eBay. The auction had 10 watchers and no bids.

I put Yukinojo up for sale yesterday and immediately got a buyer who said she would pay me on the 28th. Today, she PMed me to say that her husband had vetoed the purchase.

On the strength of that sale, I was going to buy an Unoss from ravendolls and had put in an order for the limited black doll Cocori from Iplehouse.

I get the feeling that sales on DoA are really slow at the moment. And no-one seems that keen to buy from UK sellers, except the odd person with whom I've done deals before.

Apart from that - rather a flat day but I did do some writing. I've got them to the stage where they are about to set off on the infamous journey into enemy territory, the slight drawback being that the journey takes 12 days. I think I'm going to have to do some serious condensing as there is only so much incident you can pack into a journey - well, of course in theory you could pack in a hell of a lot of incident, but it might come across as rather ridiculous. Like the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where Indie is escaping from the temple in the jungle and is pursued by about one hundred different booby traps including a giant boulder.