Prompt Post 2
Welcome to the second round of the_eagle_kink .
Please see the rules before posting.
Please check our delcious account before prompting.
Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
Please see the rules before posting.
Please check our delcious account before prompting.
Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
- MORE MOD NOTES: Alright guys I know this fandom is really into historical accuracy and all that jazz but here's the thing. This is a KINK MEME and therefore historical accuracy is not ( Read more... )
But making such an attempt at pious gratitude sent an almost physical pain through his heart, and he clutched at the folds of his cloak. This was his punishment, his penance, and his purification. The Lord was emptying him of all worldly impulses, releasing those last lingering ties that bound him to the mortal plane, making His servant clean and and entirely dedicated to Him. But the Lord's cleansing burned like fire.
Blinking back his emotions, he cast about in desperation for any trivial thing that would draw attention from this humiliation-on anything but the Captain and the Corporal. Details stood out raw in his mind and he noticed, for the first time, the rough floorboards of the howdah, the scents of jasmine and sandalwood in the air, the twisting red lines like worms under the skin of the guide's feet. Hookworm was such a cruel scourge, but it did serve to put his current misery in perspective; at least St. John could always be assured of having stout shoes and wholesome food, whatever else he might suffer. He decided to apply himself to another's troubles-God would bless such an action, surely, and show His servant a measure of tenderness. St. John composed himself with an effort.
“Is there a doctor here at the estate, guide?” he whispered; he did not fully trust his voice.
The guide looked blankly at him. “Yes, Sahib. You are ill?”
“No, I am quite healthy. It is your feet-they must be looked at.”
“Me, Sahib? Oh no. I am good.”
“You are not. You have hookworm and could develop chlorosis. You must ask the doctor about it; you should not work until your feet are better.”
The guide, in return, gave him a puzzled, frightened sort of look, glanced quickly at the front elephant, then looked back at the floor while shaking his head. St. John also looked to the elephant, where Cpl. Fitzpatrick was leaning into Cpt. Aquilaine, caressing his cheek. He looked away.
“Kyā āpa baṅgālī bōlatē haiṁ?” he whispered. It was high time he put his studies into practice, and intellectual efforts sometimes eased emotional suffering.
“Bēśaka, sāhiba.”
“Kŏrpōrala karatā hai?”
“Nahīṁ, sāhaba.” The guide looked wary.
“Tuma nahīṁ ēka ḍŏkṭara kyōṁ cāhatē hō?”
“Maiṁ apanē pairōṁ kē li'ē ēka ḍŏkṭara cāhatē haiṁ, hām̐, lēkina hama usē yātrā kī anumati nahīṁ hai. Cikitsaka kēvala guru kē li'ē hai.”
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“Agara hama kāma nahīṁ karatē hama kōṛē haiṁ.”
“Kōṛē? Maiṁ śabda nahīṁ jānatā.” St. John gave an elaborate shrug.
That brought a weary smile to the guide's face. “Kōṛē. Mārā?” He mimicked the actions of beating someone with a stick.
“Āha. Yaha hai ki kyōṁ kisī kō thā... Kala kōṛē?”
The guide's face went dark. “Hāṁ. Ki mērē cacērē bhā'ī thē. Usakā bēṭā bahuta bīmāra hai. Vaha usakī paravāha kārakhānē mēṁ jānā nahīṁ cāhatā thā, isali'ē vē usē kōṛē aura hama saba kō dēkhanē kē li'ē banāyā hai.”
“Vē ēka aurata kō kōṛē?” St. John suddenly found this conversation to be quite useful; his misery was being converted, with all due haste, into a fine and burning rage towards the vicious, grasping Corporal, who needed to possess everything, rule everything, and would never spare so much as the crumbs for another man if he could manage. “Ki burā hai, duṣṭa. Āpa kyōṁ nahīṁ chōṛa sakatā hūm̐? Āpa gulāma nahīṁ haiṁ.”
“Hām̐ sāhiba. Hama kara rahē haiṁ.” The guide looked at St. John as if he were a child. St. John gaped at him, his mouth sagging open. He tried to speak further and failed.
I knew slavery had not technically been abolished here, because the East India Company runs the country's administration rather than the Home Office. I did not think that meant any true Englishman actually practiced this wickedness, let alone any of its attendant vices.
Such atrocities will not stand.
He spent the rest of the ride homewards in silent thought, overcome by the sorrows of the world and the suffering of the people in it. Each glance at the front of the train confirmed what he already knew-presently he stopped looking at them.
By the time the elephants returned to the estate proper St. John was settled in his mind: spreading the Word of Christ to the unchurched people of India would not be enough; Christian fellowship also demanded a lightening of their earthly bonds and defeat of those who caused them such distress. In addition, he would crush his weaknesses once and for all. And, having driven out these unnatural desires, he would quash Cpt. Aquilaine's presumption that St. John had ever harbored such thoughts in the first place. He could not abide the idea that the Captain might think so little of him.
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I have been shouting the praises of this story all over LJ; I cannot even tell you how much I love it.
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I need it to be next Friday already!
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So well written. Your St.-John is so spot-on! I'm delighted that someone is finally writing about him, giving him a life and a destiny after Jane Eyre!
But, oh!, he is going to hurt and hurt Aquilaine badly before it gets better. And it is logical too, with his education and taboos.
Somehow, the fact that he is repressed will make it all the more fulfilling and hot when he finally surrenders to his senses.
What is Aquilaine playing at, I wonder? Was he hurt by the reverend's behavior? Is what St-John witnessing not what it appears?
Poor St.John, thinking he is over the captain, when he is more concerned than ever about what he might think of him!
I adore this fic and eagerly wait for each update.
A little observation on a small detail, though. I noticed that Fitzpatrick's military rank is "Cpl". A corporal is not an officer. It is the rank just above "private", which is the lowest non-officer rank.
A cpl would be very unlikely to be from a priviledged background, have gone to Uniersity and be allowed to befriend so intimately an officer like the captain.
If is rank is a little below Aquilaine, he could be a lieutenant. Above, a major. Or he could be a captain too.
I hope I didn't offend you with that, because I think your fic is masterful!
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when I read your obeservation I first thought WTF Corporal is one of the higher ranking officers! I do not understand this at all.
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anyway, I was CONFUSED. LOTS. and then I read your comment again and was like hoshit. I called him Corporal. I meant COLONEL. I always get those confused. Always. Fuck fuck oh well.
Good catch! I'm stickin' with my error, because consistency is fun, but I'll fixy-fixy for when I post to AO3. :D
also, last time someone pointed out an error I was a tad grumpy about it, but it propelled me into a tentacle-fic. I am not grumpy now, but perhaps I will come up with something anyways...
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This is really brilliant, feels very period and very emotional. Just please, work in the very Jane Eyre-esque and symbolic BED ON FIRE. Nothing communicates Victorian desire to bang ASAP than a symbolic FIRE in the BED.
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As I said, it was just a quick question about a detail and I didn't mean to offend.
My comment focused mainly on how much I like your characters and the universe you created. :-)
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swooning over everything! especially St. John's jealousy, omg. He considered-for a moment only-leaping from his elephant, demanding satisfaction from Cpl. Fitzpatrick and then beating the man with his own bejeweled cane until he begged for relief. LOL <3
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