(no subject)
Character: Richard Carstone
Fandom: Bleak House (novel)
Community: DF
Word Count: 242
Rating: G
Prompt: A ship
He wanted to be a sailor, when he was little. Well, among other things. Richard always did have a proclivity for changing his mind. But he considered, at first, the glamour of going to sea, raised on tales of Wellington and the glory of Napoleonic Wars recently passed. Once in a great while, when he was allowed out, he could see the great white sails of the fleet rising even with the dome of St. Paul’s. They seemed to somehow always be shining, and even an orphan could become a sailor.
The other boys teased Richard (good-naturedly, as he was always pleasant enough to be at least a member of the gang, if never one of its leaders) that his mind was always sailing off to sea without him. He’d always laugh, but he couldn’t help nursing secret images of himself as a brilliant naval captain. He outgrew the image gradually, almost without noticing, as he imagined himself a brilliant MP or a cavalry officer or an explorer of distant lands.
And so when he was riding in a coach with his new solicitor and his new, smiling, rose-colored cousin, he was surprised to find as he glanced out the window that the white sails rising out of the fog still signaled possibility. The hope of a brighter future. But for the first time, he saw sitting in the coach with him a firm and real reason not to leave England behind.
Fandom: Bleak House (novel)
Community: DF
Word Count: 242
Rating: G
Prompt: A ship
He wanted to be a sailor, when he was little. Well, among other things. Richard always did have a proclivity for changing his mind. But he considered, at first, the glamour of going to sea, raised on tales of Wellington and the glory of Napoleonic Wars recently passed. Once in a great while, when he was allowed out, he could see the great white sails of the fleet rising even with the dome of St. Paul’s. They seemed to somehow always be shining, and even an orphan could become a sailor.
The other boys teased Richard (good-naturedly, as he was always pleasant enough to be at least a member of the gang, if never one of its leaders) that his mind was always sailing off to sea without him. He’d always laugh, but he couldn’t help nursing secret images of himself as a brilliant naval captain. He outgrew the image gradually, almost without noticing, as he imagined himself a brilliant MP or a cavalry officer or an explorer of distant lands.
And so when he was riding in a coach with his new solicitor and his new, smiling, rose-colored cousin, he was surprised to find as he glanced out the window that the white sails rising out of the fog still signaled possibility. The hope of a brighter future. But for the first time, he saw sitting in the coach with him a firm and real reason not to leave England behind.