FIC for Sarrrratoons!
Title: Illyria, Lady
Author/Artist: kethlenda
Recipient's name: saratoons
Fandom: Marvel 1602 (X-Men)
Characters/Pairings: Scotius Summerisle (Cyclops), "Master" Grey (Jean). Slight infatuation on Scott's part, but not really shippy.
Rating and Warnings: PG, and none!
Summary: Scotius Summerisle comes to London to find one of the Witchbreed who hides among the actors of Bankside.
Notes: There is at least speculation that Twelfth Night was first performed in 1601, though there is no proof of its being performed before 1602. There is no evidence it was ever presented in Bankside. However, this being the 1602 fandom, I thought some historical liberties might be in order. Thanks to sionnain for looking this over.
Scotius Summerisle had to admit he liked the play, though he hadn't come here for pleasure. It was a new work, entitled Twelfth Night, and the man he was seeking was doing an admirable job as the buffoonish Malvolio. It was clear that he had talents of the ordinary sort as well as the gifts that made him an excellent candidate for Sanctuary.
The Witchbreed is an actor in Bankside, by the name of Grey, Javier had said. A very strong one. We must find this Grey before anyone else does. Scotius was thankful he'd found the man at last. He was older than most of his kind were when they first manifested their powers, but a later change was not unheard-of.
He turned his attention back to the stage then, where a callow young man was presently revealing himself as a woman. He blinked, and looked again. The actor really was a woman. Even through his ruby visor he could see that the fine-boned face, the sylphlike limbs, belonged to no man. How had she been able to keep up the deception? He knew women were strictly forbidden to appear on stage. It occurred to him that there might be many women, despite the rules, who sought their fortunes in this same way. Perhaps no one noticed, or chose to look closely enough to notice. People tended to see what they wished to see.
After the play ended and the actors left the stage amid thunderous applause, Scotius slipped through the crowd and pushed his way backstage. Grey was nowhere in sight. A few discreet questions yielded the information that Grey had already left, and that he and his son lived a quiet life in the rooms above the Queen's Arms Inn up the street. Scotius sighed and left the theatre. He hoped to God the man would truly be at home. He was sick unto death of London and its noises and stenches; the clean sea air was a siren's song in his mind.
***
"You're mistaken," said Grey. "There are no Witchbreed here. Get out."
"But...I do not come from the Church, sir...I come to invite you to a school, sir, where you may learn more about your gifts in safety--"
"I told you," said the man, who was quite red in the face now. "There are no Witchbreed here. Are you deaf or merely an imbecile?"
Scotius bowed his head. It was against Javier's policy to take any Witchbreed against his will, yet it always brought pain when one refused. Certes, there were those who stood alone against church and state and survived, but far more found themselves at the stake. "Very well, good sir. I shall leave you and darken your door no more."
"Nay, you shall not!" bellowed the man. "'Tis the first bit of truth you've pulled out of your arse all night."
"Father?" called a lilting voice. The young son, Scotius presumed, until the speaker emerged from the inner room. It was the sylph, Viola. The young woman was...Grey's son?
"Father, I want to go. Please?"
Scotius blinked. It was she? He riffled through his conversations with Javier and realized that Javier had never told him the Witchbreed was a man.
"But, Joa--John...this could be a trap...he might be a spy, an Inquisitor..."
"Nonsense, Father. He's naught but a stuffy old scholar."
Stuffy? Old? Scotius sputtered, not sure if he was laughing or choking.
"Are you certain about this, my son?"
"Of course. Wouldn't you like to settle down in the country and live in peace and quiet? Not have to pack up and move every few months when someone figures out what I am? Please let me do this, Father. I'm a...a man grown. This is what I wish."
Grey heaved a great sigh. "Very well, then...Mister Summerisle, will you grant me a moment to bid farewell to my only child?"
***
Scotius inhaled a deep breath of the salty, damp air as he and Master Grey walked the gangplank to the waiting ship. He had always loved the sea. Even when the villagers had decreed that it would be his doom, he saw it only as a giver of freedom. As it turned out, freedom had come from the sea, though not in the way the fools had planned.
"It's not a dreary old monastery, is it?" asked the young Grey. It was odd; she went on claiming her name was John Grey and so it was hard for him to associate her with any other name, though it was likely she'd been christened Joanna.
"Is what a dreary old monastery?"
"Your school. Is it the sort of place where you have to say prayers all day, and never speak to anyone, and never laugh?"
"Good heavens, Grey! You left London to help your father, thinking that was what awaited you?"
Grey shrugged. "He's growing old. He deserves some peace; he's known nothing but fear since the day I was born."
“You are a good...a good son,” said Scotius. “But I assure you, Sanctuary is no dreary old monastery. It is a school, where you will learn to use your gifts to help all mankind--and in due time, if you wish to marry and bear--I mean, get children, that is your right.” He felt a curious pang when he told her of this policy, and wondered why.
"Captain!" shouted Robert, running to meet him on the gangplank. "We're still becalmed in this bloody harbor. Not a wind in sight. At this rate, we’ll never get to Illyria in time.”
“Illyria?” Grey’s eyes were dancing, mischievous flames. “Are we pirates?”
Scotius chuckled. “Nay, my boy, we are not pirates. We go to Illyria to rescue another young Witchbreed like yourself, whose uncanny abilities put him in danger. But as for you, you’re going straight to Sanctuary. We shall leave you there on our way.”
“Rescuing witches from under the noses of the Inquisitors!” Grey’s face was flushed now with excitement. “So you are pirates.”
He’d never thought about it quite that way before. “I...I suppose we are, Master Grey.” And you, you are a treasure unlooked-for.
“Please, Mister Summerisle? Please let me come with you?” Grey had reached the deck of the ship, and stood on it as if she’d been born to the sea. Scotius boarded and stifled his grumble; he’d been hoping to be able to help her onto the ship.
“’Tis a hazardous voyage, Grey, and I would not have you placed in such peril…”
Of a sudden, the ship moved. “Thank God, ‘tis a wind at last!” exclaimed Robert.
“Nay,” said Scotius. The sails moved not a bit. He turned and met Grey’s brilliant green eyes.
She winked.
Author/Artist: kethlenda
Recipient's name: saratoons
Fandom: Marvel 1602 (X-Men)
Characters/Pairings: Scotius Summerisle (Cyclops), "Master" Grey (Jean). Slight infatuation on Scott's part, but not really shippy.
Rating and Warnings: PG, and none!
Summary: Scotius Summerisle comes to London to find one of the Witchbreed who hides among the actors of Bankside.
Notes: There is at least speculation that Twelfth Night was first performed in 1601, though there is no proof of its being performed before 1602. There is no evidence it was ever presented in Bankside. However, this being the 1602 fandom, I thought some historical liberties might be in order. Thanks to sionnain for looking this over.
Scotius Summerisle had to admit he liked the play, though he hadn't come here for pleasure. It was a new work, entitled Twelfth Night, and the man he was seeking was doing an admirable job as the buffoonish Malvolio. It was clear that he had talents of the ordinary sort as well as the gifts that made him an excellent candidate for Sanctuary.
The Witchbreed is an actor in Bankside, by the name of Grey, Javier had said. A very strong one. We must find this Grey before anyone else does. Scotius was thankful he'd found the man at last. He was older than most of his kind were when they first manifested their powers, but a later change was not unheard-of.
He turned his attention back to the stage then, where a callow young man was presently revealing himself as a woman. He blinked, and looked again. The actor really was a woman. Even through his ruby visor he could see that the fine-boned face, the sylphlike limbs, belonged to no man. How had she been able to keep up the deception? He knew women were strictly forbidden to appear on stage. It occurred to him that there might be many women, despite the rules, who sought their fortunes in this same way. Perhaps no one noticed, or chose to look closely enough to notice. People tended to see what they wished to see.
After the play ended and the actors left the stage amid thunderous applause, Scotius slipped through the crowd and pushed his way backstage. Grey was nowhere in sight. A few discreet questions yielded the information that Grey had already left, and that he and his son lived a quiet life in the rooms above the Queen's Arms Inn up the street. Scotius sighed and left the theatre. He hoped to God the man would truly be at home. He was sick unto death of London and its noises and stenches; the clean sea air was a siren's song in his mind.
***
"You're mistaken," said Grey. "There are no Witchbreed here. Get out."
"But...I do not come from the Church, sir...I come to invite you to a school, sir, where you may learn more about your gifts in safety--"
"I told you," said the man, who was quite red in the face now. "There are no Witchbreed here. Are you deaf or merely an imbecile?"
Scotius bowed his head. It was against Javier's policy to take any Witchbreed against his will, yet it always brought pain when one refused. Certes, there were those who stood alone against church and state and survived, but far more found themselves at the stake. "Very well, good sir. I shall leave you and darken your door no more."
"Nay, you shall not!" bellowed the man. "'Tis the first bit of truth you've pulled out of your arse all night."
"Father?" called a lilting voice. The young son, Scotius presumed, until the speaker emerged from the inner room. It was the sylph, Viola. The young woman was...Grey's son?
"Father, I want to go. Please?"
Scotius blinked. It was she? He riffled through his conversations with Javier and realized that Javier had never told him the Witchbreed was a man.
"But, Joa--John...this could be a trap...he might be a spy, an Inquisitor..."
"Nonsense, Father. He's naught but a stuffy old scholar."
Stuffy? Old? Scotius sputtered, not sure if he was laughing or choking.
"Are you certain about this, my son?"
"Of course. Wouldn't you like to settle down in the country and live in peace and quiet? Not have to pack up and move every few months when someone figures out what I am? Please let me do this, Father. I'm a...a man grown. This is what I wish."
Grey heaved a great sigh. "Very well, then...Mister Summerisle, will you grant me a moment to bid farewell to my only child?"
***
Scotius inhaled a deep breath of the salty, damp air as he and Master Grey walked the gangplank to the waiting ship. He had always loved the sea. Even when the villagers had decreed that it would be his doom, he saw it only as a giver of freedom. As it turned out, freedom had come from the sea, though not in the way the fools had planned.
"It's not a dreary old monastery, is it?" asked the young Grey. It was odd; she went on claiming her name was John Grey and so it was hard for him to associate her with any other name, though it was likely she'd been christened Joanna.
"Is what a dreary old monastery?"
"Your school. Is it the sort of place where you have to say prayers all day, and never speak to anyone, and never laugh?"
"Good heavens, Grey! You left London to help your father, thinking that was what awaited you?"
Grey shrugged. "He's growing old. He deserves some peace; he's known nothing but fear since the day I was born."
“You are a good...a good son,” said Scotius. “But I assure you, Sanctuary is no dreary old monastery. It is a school, where you will learn to use your gifts to help all mankind--and in due time, if you wish to marry and bear--I mean, get children, that is your right.” He felt a curious pang when he told her of this policy, and wondered why.
"Captain!" shouted Robert, running to meet him on the gangplank. "We're still becalmed in this bloody harbor. Not a wind in sight. At this rate, we’ll never get to Illyria in time.”
“Illyria?” Grey’s eyes were dancing, mischievous flames. “Are we pirates?”
Scotius chuckled. “Nay, my boy, we are not pirates. We go to Illyria to rescue another young Witchbreed like yourself, whose uncanny abilities put him in danger. But as for you, you’re going straight to Sanctuary. We shall leave you there on our way.”
“Rescuing witches from under the noses of the Inquisitors!” Grey’s face was flushed now with excitement. “So you are pirates.”
He’d never thought about it quite that way before. “I...I suppose we are, Master Grey.” And you, you are a treasure unlooked-for.
“Please, Mister Summerisle? Please let me come with you?” Grey had reached the deck of the ship, and stood on it as if she’d been born to the sea. Scotius boarded and stifled his grumble; he’d been hoping to be able to help her onto the ship.
“’Tis a hazardous voyage, Grey, and I would not have you placed in such peril…”
Of a sudden, the ship moved. “Thank God, ‘tis a wind at last!” exclaimed Robert.
“Nay,” said Scotius. The sails moved not a bit. He turned and met Grey’s brilliant green eyes.
She winked.