Drabble & Unfinished Draft
Happy Monday everyone! I thought I'd kick off today's offerings with my two unsatisfactory halves, in the hope that they might make a slightly more satisfactory whole. :S We shall see!
First up is a drabble. clunkhall wanted me to write "Matthew on the beach with ice-cream and donkeys" inspired by a line in Chapter One of Consolation Prize. I'm afraid you are not getting what you requested though I promise I will one day write that story. For some reason this is what I was inspired to write. As for the setting - the where, when and why of it - well, that's for me to know and you to feel frustrated and confused about. Sorry!! On the other hand, it does involve Matthew, Mary and a beach, so go figure!
On Stranger Tides
“I wouldn't describe this as Scarborough,” said Mary disdainfully as her heels sank into unfamiliar sand.
Matthew looked at her curiously and wondered why she would want to describe it as such in the first place.
The beach stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction, dotted with umbrella stands arranged in neat, geometric patterns. The umbrellas themselves were not there now, of course. In front of them was the grey sea. On these strange shores there was hardly any tidal movement and the tiny waves rustled against the flat, pale sand, hardly advancing or retreating however long you waited.
“Well, it isn't Scarborough,” said Matthew eventually, then added, “What made you think of it? Scarborough in particular, that is.”
Another long pause stretched before she shrugged and replied, “Sybil.” This did not seem to enlighten him, so she continued, “She said once that she could not imagine you on a beach.”
He chuckled quietly. “And yet here I am!”
She glanced fondly at him. “Here you are indeed,” she agreed and squeezed his arm. “Sybil was wrong anyway. I could easily picture you on Scarborough beach with the donkeys and an ice-cream cone in your hand.”
Matthew laughed. “Really, darling, donkeys? You won't find any here.”
She sighed. “No. I suppose we won't.”
“I could get you an ice-cream though, if it helped?”
She was roused to brief laughter at this. “Matthew, it's February. I'd rather have a nice cup of tea.” She sighed wistfully again.
They stood in silence for a few minutes, looking out to sea and Mary shivered. Suddenly Matthew put his arm round her and pulled her close to him. Closing her eyes for a moment, she leaned into him and rested her head gently against his; she felt herself relax.
“I suppose we had better go to Scarborough then,” said Matthew into her hair a few moments later, as the first few drops of rain began to fall from the grey sky.
She shifted against his arm and looked at him, her countenance full of hope. “We will.”
He held her gaze and there was a promise in his eyes.
No, that one won't be posted anywhere else or at least not for a very long while...
Right, my second offering is even more bizarre than the first! The other day I found going through my "Stories" folder the very much incomplete beginning of my first ever DA fanfic! I have pretty much no memory of writing this but the story itself informs me (as it will you) that it was started between the airings of episodes 2 & 3, inspired by the preview for episode 3 and abandoned when the episode proved the set-up to be completely wrong. I guess I found its discovery interesting for several reasons. 1. I was apparently a hardened, enthusiastic M/M shipper after ep 2. Who knew!? 2. I clearly had very similar ideas in fic writing then as I do now. 3. Despite being AU in the "this-didn't-happen" way (rather than the more interesting "this-could-have-happened" way), the set-up is (in my arrogant opinion) in character and plausible for the way the characters develop over the entire series, amazing really considering I was writing it after only two episodes. 4. I am so obsessed with M/M and Greek myths and subtext it's not even funny. By which I mean it's hilarious. While it's clear from the story itself what its overall aim was going to be, I can't remember exactly what would have happened or rather how it would have happened so it's unlikely it'll ever get finished, though you never know. But don't expect it to be. It's not anything close to a priority for me, and I present this more as a curiosity than for any other reason.
It's completely unchanged and unedited from how I found it, and I apologise for the fact it ends in the middle of a sentence. I do that - it's really annoying when I come back to a story or a chapter the following day and have absolutely no idea how the sentence was going to end!
More Than a Golden Apple
The Honourable Evelyn Napier left abruptly on the second day of the hunt. His stammered excuse of “an urgent business meeting” was obviously false, since it was impossible to imagine The Honourable Mr. Napier in any kind of meeting, let alone one that did not involve alcohol or gambling, but nobody could tell his real motivations and nobody thought to ask Thomas.
The Crawley girls watched him depart from the landing.
“You should feel happy, Mary,” said Edith. “He stayed longer then the Duke by a whole day!”
“Don’t be so mean!” protested Sybil and pulled her sister away from the stairs.
“It’s only the truth, Sybil. Mary knows that.”
Mary stayed at the top of the stairs, leaning on the banister. She had honestly thought - well, never mind. But he really should not have kissed her like that, not if he had intended to leave the next morning. Had she really no attractions save a fortune and estate she did not possess?
She pushed these thoughts away and started down the stairs when the door bell rang again and Carson admitted Matthew Crawley. Mary made to retreat for he was the last person she wanted to see at that moment, or indeed ever, but he had seen her and nodded to her and she was obliged to come down and greet him. He seemed cheerful.
“I passed Mr. Napier on the drive,” he said, “dashing away as if pursued by all the Furies together.”
She gritted her teeth but allowed no outward display of irritation. “Mr. Napier has been unfortunately called away. Have you come for breakfast?”
“Yes, I have, if you will have me. Mother is at the hospital this morning.” He let Carson take his coat and Mary noticed in spite of herself that he seemed more at ease allowing the butler to take care of him. For some reason that disappointed her.
“Will you come through?”
He followed her across the floor in silence until they almost reached the door when he observed suddenly, almost in her ear, “I'm sorry if your Perseus became a Theseus, Lady Mary.”
She turned so suddenly at his voice that he had to take a step backwards to avoid bumping into her. As it was, the crepe that floated over her dark grey dress, brushed his sleeve.
She observed him for only a second, her expression as unreadable as always, before replying calmly, “That's quite all right. But I don't think Downton has much in common with Naxos, do you?”
As if to prove her point, she turned away again and pushed open the door to the dining room to reveal a room full of men in hunting jackets who mostly rose at Lady Mary's appearance.
“Here she is!” cried young Sir Reggie Belvedere, a fool with little in the way of personal appeal in the opinions of both Mary and Matthew, had they thought to consult each other. “Finally! I thought we would have to delay the sport!”
Mary pointedly sat down next to him.
“Are you hunting today as well, Crawley?” asked Lord Grantham from the top of the table.
It seemed to Matthew that all eyes turned to watch his answer even if barely anyone was really paying him any attention, as he hesitated in the act of sitting down and arranging his napkin. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lady Mary favour Belvedere with dainty smile and laugh and was briefly caught wondering why such a beautiful woman would choose to be so cold and wishing she had better taste than the likes of Napier and Sir Reginald. (How could she move on so quickly?)
He sat down slowly and answered, “Yes, I thought I might today, since it is a Saturday. See what the fuss is about! If it is convenient for your Lordship of course.”
“You would be most welcome-”
“But Mr. Crawley doesn't have a horse, do you, Mr. Crawley?” interrupted Mary, ignoring whatever Sir Reginald had last said to her. “Not a suitable one anyway.”
Matthew stared at her across the table and eventually replied, “You are correct. I have never felt the necessity to own a hunter.”
“You see,” continued Mary to the room at large, “Mr. Crawley comes from Manchester. Hunting is unheard of there and in fact horses are hardly needed at all since the houses are so close together it is possible to walk everywhere.”
There were a few titters at this witticism but Lord Grantham looked displeased and said, “Let that be as it may, Mary. Mr. Crawley may have Acton if he likes.”
“Thank you,” replied Matthew.
“Acton?” exclaimed one lad loudly. “Ponsonby rode him last year after his gelding went lame and he was already lagging at the back before we were all the way down the drive! Come, come, Grantham, that's a poor beast you're giving Crawley!”
“Acton may not be as fast as some of them but he is steady,” was all that Lord Grantham replied.
Matthew felt himself get more and more irritated. He had only agreed to join the hunt because it felt like the right thing to do if he was going to make an effort to fit in at Downton. His conversation while walking the estate with Lord Grantham had greatly affected him and he had determined to do what he could to
Hopefully something a bit more satisfying from me next week!
P.S. If the purpose/plot/aims of this story aren't obvious to you by now (!), I suggest you google the myth of Atalanta and the foot-race.
First up is a drabble. clunkhall wanted me to write "Matthew on the beach with ice-cream and donkeys" inspired by a line in Chapter One of Consolation Prize. I'm afraid you are not getting what you requested though I promise I will one day write that story. For some reason this is what I was inspired to write. As for the setting - the where, when and why of it - well, that's for me to know and you to feel frustrated and confused about. Sorry!! On the other hand, it does involve Matthew, Mary and a beach, so go figure!
On Stranger Tides
“I wouldn't describe this as Scarborough,” said Mary disdainfully as her heels sank into unfamiliar sand.
Matthew looked at her curiously and wondered why she would want to describe it as such in the first place.
The beach stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction, dotted with umbrella stands arranged in neat, geometric patterns. The umbrellas themselves were not there now, of course. In front of them was the grey sea. On these strange shores there was hardly any tidal movement and the tiny waves rustled against the flat, pale sand, hardly advancing or retreating however long you waited.
“Well, it isn't Scarborough,” said Matthew eventually, then added, “What made you think of it? Scarborough in particular, that is.”
Another long pause stretched before she shrugged and replied, “Sybil.” This did not seem to enlighten him, so she continued, “She said once that she could not imagine you on a beach.”
He chuckled quietly. “And yet here I am!”
She glanced fondly at him. “Here you are indeed,” she agreed and squeezed his arm. “Sybil was wrong anyway. I could easily picture you on Scarborough beach with the donkeys and an ice-cream cone in your hand.”
Matthew laughed. “Really, darling, donkeys? You won't find any here.”
She sighed. “No. I suppose we won't.”
“I could get you an ice-cream though, if it helped?”
She was roused to brief laughter at this. “Matthew, it's February. I'd rather have a nice cup of tea.” She sighed wistfully again.
They stood in silence for a few minutes, looking out to sea and Mary shivered. Suddenly Matthew put his arm round her and pulled her close to him. Closing her eyes for a moment, she leaned into him and rested her head gently against his; she felt herself relax.
“I suppose we had better go to Scarborough then,” said Matthew into her hair a few moments later, as the first few drops of rain began to fall from the grey sky.
She shifted against his arm and looked at him, her countenance full of hope. “We will.”
He held her gaze and there was a promise in his eyes.
No, that one won't be posted anywhere else or at least not for a very long while...
Right, my second offering is even more bizarre than the first! The other day I found going through my "Stories" folder the very much incomplete beginning of my first ever DA fanfic! I have pretty much no memory of writing this but the story itself informs me (as it will you) that it was started between the airings of episodes 2 & 3, inspired by the preview for episode 3 and abandoned when the episode proved the set-up to be completely wrong. I guess I found its discovery interesting for several reasons. 1. I was apparently a hardened, enthusiastic M/M shipper after ep 2. Who knew!? 2. I clearly had very similar ideas in fic writing then as I do now. 3. Despite being AU in the "this-didn't-happen" way (rather than the more interesting "this-could-have-happened" way), the set-up is (in my arrogant opinion) in character and plausible for the way the characters develop over the entire series, amazing really considering I was writing it after only two episodes. 4. I am so obsessed with M/M and Greek myths and subtext it's not even funny. By which I mean it's hilarious. While it's clear from the story itself what its overall aim was going to be, I can't remember exactly what would have happened or rather how it would have happened so it's unlikely it'll ever get finished, though you never know. But don't expect it to be. It's not anything close to a priority for me, and I present this more as a curiosity than for any other reason.
It's completely unchanged and unedited from how I found it, and I apologise for the fact it ends in the middle of a sentence. I do that - it's really annoying when I come back to a story or a chapter the following day and have absolutely no idea how the sentence was going to end!
More Than a Golden Apple
The Honourable Evelyn Napier left abruptly on the second day of the hunt. His stammered excuse of “an urgent business meeting” was obviously false, since it was impossible to imagine The Honourable Mr. Napier in any kind of meeting, let alone one that did not involve alcohol or gambling, but nobody could tell his real motivations and nobody thought to ask Thomas.
The Crawley girls watched him depart from the landing.
“You should feel happy, Mary,” said Edith. “He stayed longer then the Duke by a whole day!”
“Don’t be so mean!” protested Sybil and pulled her sister away from the stairs.
“It’s only the truth, Sybil. Mary knows that.”
Mary stayed at the top of the stairs, leaning on the banister. She had honestly thought - well, never mind. But he really should not have kissed her like that, not if he had intended to leave the next morning. Had she really no attractions save a fortune and estate she did not possess?
She pushed these thoughts away and started down the stairs when the door bell rang again and Carson admitted Matthew Crawley. Mary made to retreat for he was the last person she wanted to see at that moment, or indeed ever, but he had seen her and nodded to her and she was obliged to come down and greet him. He seemed cheerful.
“I passed Mr. Napier on the drive,” he said, “dashing away as if pursued by all the Furies together.”
She gritted her teeth but allowed no outward display of irritation. “Mr. Napier has been unfortunately called away. Have you come for breakfast?”
“Yes, I have, if you will have me. Mother is at the hospital this morning.” He let Carson take his coat and Mary noticed in spite of herself that he seemed more at ease allowing the butler to take care of him. For some reason that disappointed her.
“Will you come through?”
He followed her across the floor in silence until they almost reached the door when he observed suddenly, almost in her ear, “I'm sorry if your Perseus became a Theseus, Lady Mary.”
She turned so suddenly at his voice that he had to take a step backwards to avoid bumping into her. As it was, the crepe that floated over her dark grey dress, brushed his sleeve.
She observed him for only a second, her expression as unreadable as always, before replying calmly, “That's quite all right. But I don't think Downton has much in common with Naxos, do you?”
As if to prove her point, she turned away again and pushed open the door to the dining room to reveal a room full of men in hunting jackets who mostly rose at Lady Mary's appearance.
“Here she is!” cried young Sir Reggie Belvedere, a fool with little in the way of personal appeal in the opinions of both Mary and Matthew, had they thought to consult each other. “Finally! I thought we would have to delay the sport!”
Mary pointedly sat down next to him.
“Are you hunting today as well, Crawley?” asked Lord Grantham from the top of the table.
It seemed to Matthew that all eyes turned to watch his answer even if barely anyone was really paying him any attention, as he hesitated in the act of sitting down and arranging his napkin. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lady Mary favour Belvedere with dainty smile and laugh and was briefly caught wondering why such a beautiful woman would choose to be so cold and wishing she had better taste than the likes of Napier and Sir Reginald. (How could she move on so quickly?)
He sat down slowly and answered, “Yes, I thought I might today, since it is a Saturday. See what the fuss is about! If it is convenient for your Lordship of course.”
“You would be most welcome-”
“But Mr. Crawley doesn't have a horse, do you, Mr. Crawley?” interrupted Mary, ignoring whatever Sir Reginald had last said to her. “Not a suitable one anyway.”
Matthew stared at her across the table and eventually replied, “You are correct. I have never felt the necessity to own a hunter.”
“You see,” continued Mary to the room at large, “Mr. Crawley comes from Manchester. Hunting is unheard of there and in fact horses are hardly needed at all since the houses are so close together it is possible to walk everywhere.”
There were a few titters at this witticism but Lord Grantham looked displeased and said, “Let that be as it may, Mary. Mr. Crawley may have Acton if he likes.”
“Thank you,” replied Matthew.
“Acton?” exclaimed one lad loudly. “Ponsonby rode him last year after his gelding went lame and he was already lagging at the back before we were all the way down the drive! Come, come, Grantham, that's a poor beast you're giving Crawley!”
“Acton may not be as fast as some of them but he is steady,” was all that Lord Grantham replied.
Matthew felt himself get more and more irritated. He had only agreed to join the hunt because it felt like the right thing to do if he was going to make an effort to fit in at Downton. His conversation while walking the estate with Lord Grantham had greatly affected him and he had determined to do what he could to
Hopefully something a bit more satisfying from me next week!
P.S. If the purpose/plot/aims of this story aren't obvious to you by now (!), I suggest you google the myth of Atalanta and the foot-race.