The Garden's End Pt 4
Rating: PG.
Genre: Netty, you tralk, I know you're on LJ. TALK TO ME. XP
Setting: Season 3, pre Sunday. Because I live in denial.
Summary: Elizabeth is taken prisoner. She's in no mood to play damsel in distress.
Disclaimer: No infringement intended. Stargate Atlantis the show differs drastically from the way I write about it in my fics. I have way more respect and affection for Elizabeth than they do.
The Garden’s End Pt 4
Three days ago:
Elizabeth felt like a debutante at a ball. She definitely looked the part, decked out in style, wearing a creamy white sleeveless dress with slender straps under a delicate lacy off-the-shoulders overlay, in a starker white with intricate designs worked into it. Rather like a table cloth. She was a debutante in a table cloth pattern. Hanging around til a man showed up and considered her assets before judging her acceptable by his standards and asked her for a dance.
Oh, wait, a man had already assessed her, found her worthy of his attention and whisked her off to his manor to be his plaything. She was one of those blue-stockings in the Harlequin Regency romances that caught the eye of a rake who was so spellbound that he had to have her, by fair means or foul. Like compromising her in the library or settling a debt with a family member by bargaining for her innocence or simply kidnapping her and taking the fastest carriage to Gretna Green where they were married by less-than-scrupulous priests.
Nowhere in those books had there been any mention of the anti-hero who collected women like stamps. Although that was not a particularly flattering assessment of her worth. The Lord, for whom she had no other name except the censored ones in her mind, was more of an art collector, scooping up the rarest and most beautiful pieces for his private museum. Then dressing them in table-cloths.
Elizabeth sighed. The dress really wasn’t that awful. Not her normal style, perhaps, but it suited her. Under any other conditions, this would have been enjoyable, since she didn’t have many opportunities to dress up on Atlantis. Her Earth wardrobe didn’t feel suited to the Pegasus Galaxy, and she had gotten into the habit of wearing the ‘same old’ every day: pants, jacket, red top. Jeans were too incongruous in their decidedly alien environment. It was strange how the familiar began to look out of place after a while. When she had been forced to return to Earth, her own apartment had felt strange and unfamiliar. Being surrounded by peace and quiet, not anticipating something exciting or dangerous happening at a moment’s notice, without the adrenaline rush of constantly expecting the unexpected…
Though she certainly hadn’t foreseen being set up as Rapunzel in a glass room. Complete with long braided hair. Oh, yes, the Lord apparently had a thing for long hair, which meant she had acquired extensions. Yet another way of stripping prisoners of their identity, Elizabeth supposed. She had wanted to protest on principle, but figured that being tortured before her big escape was not the best plan, and acquiescing might be more prudent. Nevertheless, just to keep up appearances, she had protested defiantly, expertly divining the point where the Lord had been on the verge of triggering those agonizing shocks again and then dutifully submitted. She hadn’t missed the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, realized how he thrived on breaking women down, subjugating their will to his. It was a mental vampirism that disgusted her, made her itch to taunt that smugness off his face, but knew that was a foolish move, no matter how enjoyable. For some reason, she had noticed that dangerous situations seemed to prompt men to brag, mouth off and generally lose all sense of reason, just to prove how macho they were, even if they ended up with a bloody nose or broken ribs afterward. Jack O’Neill was the template for this sort of illogical behavior. Her forte was words, but she was wise enough to know this was not the time to employ them.
And now her hair was braided the same way as Sekara’s and wound around her head in a heavy unwelcome mass. The unaccustomed weight was giving her a major headache. Her makeover had been achieved without a single word from the hired help. Elizabeth tried to crack the man’s stoic demeanor, feel out whether he had any sympathy for the women’s plight and could possibly offer assistance of a more useful nature, but eventually stopped in frustration, encountering nothing but mute stonewalling in response.
So here she was, demurely settled in a new room all of her own. Elizabeth certainly enjoyed the upgrade from creepy fish tank to golden birdcage. At least it came with an en suite, and even a view, though the scenery was diminished when seen through bars. A dressing table and chair were bolted to the floor in the corner, should she feel the need to admire herself. But she ignored that and the bed, choosing to sit at the stool in front of a small coffee table instead. It seemed more civilized. Here she waited for the Lord to come inspect her before he left to attend to matters in the city and allay any possible suspicions that he was involved with her disappearance. Primped and preened within an inch of her life just to leave him with a favorable impression, rather like an appetizer to whet his hunger for the main course.
Now I’m comparing myself to a bread roll, she thought with a mental roll of her eyes. Her thoughts were growing increasingly bizarre, probably a side effect of sitting around with nothing to do.
Elizabeth missed the daily grind of life on Atlantis; falling asleep and waking to the sound of the waves, the simple act of attaching her earpiece and being in contact with everyone in the city, walking to her office and greeting people on the way…wondering where she could lay her hands on citrus when McKay was being infuriating, making a mental list of people she could call on to dress up as clowns when John was annoying her, doing the occasional girls’ lunch with Teyla… making notes on her PDA during briefings, playing Solitaire on her PDA when she needed a break, rescuing her PDA when McKay began fiddling with it or smacking John’s hand when he tried to slide it away because he thought she wasn’t looking…she felt like she’d lost a limb without the little instrument nearby, fancied she could almost feel its welcome weight in her hands for a moment before the illusion faded. Of all the damn things to crave at this moment.
Just then, the Lord finally made his appearance. As though he’d been monitoring her thoughts and calculated his entrance to coincide with her most depressed musings. The guards took up their customary positions by the door, dour expressions on their faces like they thought she was about to make a break for it and warned her that they were ready. Elizabeth didn’t focus on them, instead she watched the Lord and how his eyes lit up as he took in her new and improved appearance, a tiny smile softening his grim features. As he circled her, another analogy popped into her head: the dragon hoarding its treasure.
She could easily picture him as a scaly, avaricious monster; counting its coins to delight at the wealth it had amassed, playing with its necklaces and chalices and crowns, admiring how shiny and pretty they were with no remorse over the theft.
A smirk appeared on her face as this tangent suddenly veered to Smeegle from Lord of the Rings, cooing over his Precious. Hmm, would that make John and Rodney the two main hobbits? Then Ronon could be Gandalf because he was so tall, but that left out Teyla in this scenario…
“Is this impudence I still observe in you?” asked the Lord thoughtfully, and Elizabeth stiffened as she realized she had let her humble façade slip, and lowered her eyes meekly as she schooled her expression to neutrality once more. He cupped her chin and raised her face to him, thumb gently stroking over her cheek. “Ah, my dear, you do not fool me anymore. I see I was too hasty in my judgment of your character. You are not as easily broken as the other women, are you? Good. It has been a while since any woman has posed a challenge. It shall be sweet to test the limits of your will once I have the time to devote my full attention to you.”
Her mind raced as she wondered how to reply, or whether to risk it at all.
He chuckled and circled her slowly, trailing his knuckles under her chin to the vulnerable spot of her unsettled pulse, over her collarbone to the smooth creamy skin of her shoulders and around behind her. “Much better without that hideous jacket,” he said with approval. “And with your hair swept up in such a becoming style, it emphasizes your elegant neck.” His thumb idly found each individual vertebra at the base of her neck.
“I am so pleased my neck is to your liking,” said Elizabeth in a sweet tone, even as she wished an army of ants would lay siege to his bed just so he could understand how her skin crawled at this moment.
“Nature has been lavish with her gifts,” he said, tone warming in admiration, calculated to irritate her. “Your bone structure is exquisite, the cheekbones angular without being too wide…marvelous…I chose well in you, indeed.”
“I am going to pine away in your Lordship’s absence. No man has ever been so effusive with his praise of my appearance before.”
Suddenly he loomed over her and his face was so close beside hers as he leant over her shoulder that they were nearly cheek-to-cheek. “Do not be distressed, I promise you, I will make this trip as short as I can.”
“I will await your Lordship’s return with bated breath,” said Elizabeth calmly.
She had been expecting this sort of move from him. In a prisoner-captor situation, the captor only stood behind someone when they were trying to intimidate that someone. The Genii had done it better.
He sounded amused at her impassivity, drawling, “You are definitely going to be a delightful challenge.” The Lord straightened, squeezing her shoulder for a moment, then strode out of the room. Watching his departing back, then raising an imperious brow at the guards who threw her one last grim glance before following in his wake, Elizabeth reflected it was just as well she had that en suite. After this little encounter, she desperately needed a shower.
------------------------------------------------
Part 3
Part 2
Part 1
Netty, seriously. I miss you. <3
Genre: Netty, you tralk, I know you're on LJ. TALK TO ME. XP
Setting: Season 3, pre Sunday. Because I live in denial.
Summary: Elizabeth is taken prisoner. She's in no mood to play damsel in distress.
Disclaimer: No infringement intended. Stargate Atlantis the show differs drastically from the way I write about it in my fics. I have way more respect and affection for Elizabeth than they do.
The Garden’s End Pt 4
Three days ago:
Elizabeth felt like a debutante at a ball. She definitely looked the part, decked out in style, wearing a creamy white sleeveless dress with slender straps under a delicate lacy off-the-shoulders overlay, in a starker white with intricate designs worked into it. Rather like a table cloth. She was a debutante in a table cloth pattern. Hanging around til a man showed up and considered her assets before judging her acceptable by his standards and asked her for a dance.
Oh, wait, a man had already assessed her, found her worthy of his attention and whisked her off to his manor to be his plaything. She was one of those blue-stockings in the Harlequin Regency romances that caught the eye of a rake who was so spellbound that he had to have her, by fair means or foul. Like compromising her in the library or settling a debt with a family member by bargaining for her innocence or simply kidnapping her and taking the fastest carriage to Gretna Green where they were married by less-than-scrupulous priests.
Nowhere in those books had there been any mention of the anti-hero who collected women like stamps. Although that was not a particularly flattering assessment of her worth. The Lord, for whom she had no other name except the censored ones in her mind, was more of an art collector, scooping up the rarest and most beautiful pieces for his private museum. Then dressing them in table-cloths.
Elizabeth sighed. The dress really wasn’t that awful. Not her normal style, perhaps, but it suited her. Under any other conditions, this would have been enjoyable, since she didn’t have many opportunities to dress up on Atlantis. Her Earth wardrobe didn’t feel suited to the Pegasus Galaxy, and she had gotten into the habit of wearing the ‘same old’ every day: pants, jacket, red top. Jeans were too incongruous in their decidedly alien environment. It was strange how the familiar began to look out of place after a while. When she had been forced to return to Earth, her own apartment had felt strange and unfamiliar. Being surrounded by peace and quiet, not anticipating something exciting or dangerous happening at a moment’s notice, without the adrenaline rush of constantly expecting the unexpected…
Though she certainly hadn’t foreseen being set up as Rapunzel in a glass room. Complete with long braided hair. Oh, yes, the Lord apparently had a thing for long hair, which meant she had acquired extensions. Yet another way of stripping prisoners of their identity, Elizabeth supposed. She had wanted to protest on principle, but figured that being tortured before her big escape was not the best plan, and acquiescing might be more prudent. Nevertheless, just to keep up appearances, she had protested defiantly, expertly divining the point where the Lord had been on the verge of triggering those agonizing shocks again and then dutifully submitted. She hadn’t missed the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, realized how he thrived on breaking women down, subjugating their will to his. It was a mental vampirism that disgusted her, made her itch to taunt that smugness off his face, but knew that was a foolish move, no matter how enjoyable. For some reason, she had noticed that dangerous situations seemed to prompt men to brag, mouth off and generally lose all sense of reason, just to prove how macho they were, even if they ended up with a bloody nose or broken ribs afterward. Jack O’Neill was the template for this sort of illogical behavior. Her forte was words, but she was wise enough to know this was not the time to employ them.
And now her hair was braided the same way as Sekara’s and wound around her head in a heavy unwelcome mass. The unaccustomed weight was giving her a major headache. Her makeover had been achieved without a single word from the hired help. Elizabeth tried to crack the man’s stoic demeanor, feel out whether he had any sympathy for the women’s plight and could possibly offer assistance of a more useful nature, but eventually stopped in frustration, encountering nothing but mute stonewalling in response.
So here she was, demurely settled in a new room all of her own. Elizabeth certainly enjoyed the upgrade from creepy fish tank to golden birdcage. At least it came with an en suite, and even a view, though the scenery was diminished when seen through bars. A dressing table and chair were bolted to the floor in the corner, should she feel the need to admire herself. But she ignored that and the bed, choosing to sit at the stool in front of a small coffee table instead. It seemed more civilized. Here she waited for the Lord to come inspect her before he left to attend to matters in the city and allay any possible suspicions that he was involved with her disappearance. Primped and preened within an inch of her life just to leave him with a favorable impression, rather like an appetizer to whet his hunger for the main course.
Now I’m comparing myself to a bread roll, she thought with a mental roll of her eyes. Her thoughts were growing increasingly bizarre, probably a side effect of sitting around with nothing to do.
Elizabeth missed the daily grind of life on Atlantis; falling asleep and waking to the sound of the waves, the simple act of attaching her earpiece and being in contact with everyone in the city, walking to her office and greeting people on the way…wondering where she could lay her hands on citrus when McKay was being infuriating, making a mental list of people she could call on to dress up as clowns when John was annoying her, doing the occasional girls’ lunch with Teyla… making notes on her PDA during briefings, playing Solitaire on her PDA when she needed a break, rescuing her PDA when McKay began fiddling with it or smacking John’s hand when he tried to slide it away because he thought she wasn’t looking…she felt like she’d lost a limb without the little instrument nearby, fancied she could almost feel its welcome weight in her hands for a moment before the illusion faded. Of all the damn things to crave at this moment.
Just then, the Lord finally made his appearance. As though he’d been monitoring her thoughts and calculated his entrance to coincide with her most depressed musings. The guards took up their customary positions by the door, dour expressions on their faces like they thought she was about to make a break for it and warned her that they were ready. Elizabeth didn’t focus on them, instead she watched the Lord and how his eyes lit up as he took in her new and improved appearance, a tiny smile softening his grim features. As he circled her, another analogy popped into her head: the dragon hoarding its treasure.
She could easily picture him as a scaly, avaricious monster; counting its coins to delight at the wealth it had amassed, playing with its necklaces and chalices and crowns, admiring how shiny and pretty they were with no remorse over the theft.
A smirk appeared on her face as this tangent suddenly veered to Smeegle from Lord of the Rings, cooing over his Precious. Hmm, would that make John and Rodney the two main hobbits? Then Ronon could be Gandalf because he was so tall, but that left out Teyla in this scenario…
“Is this impudence I still observe in you?” asked the Lord thoughtfully, and Elizabeth stiffened as she realized she had let her humble façade slip, and lowered her eyes meekly as she schooled her expression to neutrality once more. He cupped her chin and raised her face to him, thumb gently stroking over her cheek. “Ah, my dear, you do not fool me anymore. I see I was too hasty in my judgment of your character. You are not as easily broken as the other women, are you? Good. It has been a while since any woman has posed a challenge. It shall be sweet to test the limits of your will once I have the time to devote my full attention to you.”
Her mind raced as she wondered how to reply, or whether to risk it at all.
He chuckled and circled her slowly, trailing his knuckles under her chin to the vulnerable spot of her unsettled pulse, over her collarbone to the smooth creamy skin of her shoulders and around behind her. “Much better without that hideous jacket,” he said with approval. “And with your hair swept up in such a becoming style, it emphasizes your elegant neck.” His thumb idly found each individual vertebra at the base of her neck.
“I am so pleased my neck is to your liking,” said Elizabeth in a sweet tone, even as she wished an army of ants would lay siege to his bed just so he could understand how her skin crawled at this moment.
“Nature has been lavish with her gifts,” he said, tone warming in admiration, calculated to irritate her. “Your bone structure is exquisite, the cheekbones angular without being too wide…marvelous…I chose well in you, indeed.”
“I am going to pine away in your Lordship’s absence. No man has ever been so effusive with his praise of my appearance before.”
Suddenly he loomed over her and his face was so close beside hers as he leant over her shoulder that they were nearly cheek-to-cheek. “Do not be distressed, I promise you, I will make this trip as short as I can.”
“I will await your Lordship’s return with bated breath,” said Elizabeth calmly.
She had been expecting this sort of move from him. In a prisoner-captor situation, the captor only stood behind someone when they were trying to intimidate that someone. The Genii had done it better.
He sounded amused at her impassivity, drawling, “You are definitely going to be a delightful challenge.” The Lord straightened, squeezing her shoulder for a moment, then strode out of the room. Watching his departing back, then raising an imperious brow at the guards who threw her one last grim glance before following in his wake, Elizabeth reflected it was just as well she had that en suite. After this little encounter, she desperately needed a shower.
------------------------------------------------
Part 3
Part 2
Part 1
Netty, seriously. I miss you. <3