(no subject)
When life throws you a romantic curve ball, it is often the time to sit back, relax and reflect on these immortal words: What Would Jane Do?
Now dear Jane, while wise in the matters of the heart and matrimony and infinitely good when it comes to social satire and wit with a pen, especially given the age she came from, would more than likely be at something of a loss in this situation. What advice could she offer him, especially when she realised that he was no Mr Darcy or Mr Knightley to match Jocelyn's Elizabeth Bennet or Emma Woodhouse. She would insist that he find a Jane for his Mr Bingley or a Kitty Morland for his Mr Tilney: someone more suitable to his...sensibilities or something and to stop pining over the woman he was not scripted to have.
She would probably end it with the suggestion of finding such a woman at a country ball. Unfortunately for Jane and her sage wisdom, there wasn't much call for country balls in twenty-first century Central Valley California, despite the fact that he was on his way to the modern-day alternative to one. If he ever got there in one piece that was. Either way, by Jane's rules or his own, the story of him and Jocelyn in any sort of romantic context was pretty much over. If it had ever been started to begin with.
If this had been a novel of the Austen kind, the fact that his car broke down and both he and Jocelyn forgot their cell phones would have been a literary device disguised as an act of fate. It wasn't though, and there wasn't going to be some sort of grand romantic conciliation on that dark Sacramento street amongst all the empty warehouses; only hurt feelings and flared tempers.
He grabbed her arm, his need to know coming out in big gestures as he turned her towards him and stopped her from walking away. "What about me? Am I your friend? Or am just I some, uh, some widget to help you make Sylvia feel better herself? Why did you invite me to be part of your book club? What went through your mind the first time saw me? 'Oh, there's a man who is dying to read every book Jane Austen ever wrote'. Is that what you thought?"
He'd hurt her or annoyed her, either way he'd gotten a reaction out of her as she turned away. "No," she said, shaking her head slightly as she began to walk away again in a quick clip. Finally he'd gotten some sort of feeling out of her. Just not the one he'd wanted. Maybe he was wrong, maybe there was a writer for his life, but a cool one, one that made her stop as he started to talk again. That kept her standing still as he finished what he had to say.
"I thought 'Oh, what a beautiful woman, I hope she looks over at me'. I thought if I read your favourite books that you would read mine, but no, no, no, you just want to be obeyed. That's why you have dogs," he finished, nodding his head knowingly like it had all finally sunk in, before continuing to walk past her down the street. He'd never been allowed dogs, even though he'd wanted them and even at his most obedient he was still too free-willed to be one.
Shoving his hands further into his pockets, he kicked a stone and watched it roll across the pavement, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breathe as he walked before opening his eyes, turning to apologise. Okay, he wasn't going to flat out make amends, but he was going to offer something big and pointless so that she could get there in time.
Only there was no Jocelyn. No darkened alleyway, no streetlights and warehouses. Instead there were trees, rows and rows of trees and a boardwalk in front of him. It was something right out of The Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits or maybe even Doctor Who.
"Jocelyn?" He turned around once again and saw pasture with cows and sheep. "Jocelyn? Anyone? Sarah Jane?"
[ooc: open to any and all. the first person gets to explain things, everyone else can find him either outside the compound or in it.]
Now dear Jane, while wise in the matters of the heart and matrimony and infinitely good when it comes to social satire and wit with a pen, especially given the age she came from, would more than likely be at something of a loss in this situation. What advice could she offer him, especially when she realised that he was no Mr Darcy or Mr Knightley to match Jocelyn's Elizabeth Bennet or Emma Woodhouse. She would insist that he find a Jane for his Mr Bingley or a Kitty Morland for his Mr Tilney: someone more suitable to his...sensibilities or something and to stop pining over the woman he was not scripted to have.
She would probably end it with the suggestion of finding such a woman at a country ball. Unfortunately for Jane and her sage wisdom, there wasn't much call for country balls in twenty-first century Central Valley California, despite the fact that he was on his way to the modern-day alternative to one. If he ever got there in one piece that was. Either way, by Jane's rules or his own, the story of him and Jocelyn in any sort of romantic context was pretty much over. If it had ever been started to begin with.
If this had been a novel of the Austen kind, the fact that his car broke down and both he and Jocelyn forgot their cell phones would have been a literary device disguised as an act of fate. It wasn't though, and there wasn't going to be some sort of grand romantic conciliation on that dark Sacramento street amongst all the empty warehouses; only hurt feelings and flared tempers.
He grabbed her arm, his need to know coming out in big gestures as he turned her towards him and stopped her from walking away. "What about me? Am I your friend? Or am just I some, uh, some widget to help you make Sylvia feel better herself? Why did you invite me to be part of your book club? What went through your mind the first time saw me? 'Oh, there's a man who is dying to read every book Jane Austen ever wrote'. Is that what you thought?"
He'd hurt her or annoyed her, either way he'd gotten a reaction out of her as she turned away. "No," she said, shaking her head slightly as she began to walk away again in a quick clip. Finally he'd gotten some sort of feeling out of her. Just not the one he'd wanted. Maybe he was wrong, maybe there was a writer for his life, but a cool one, one that made her stop as he started to talk again. That kept her standing still as he finished what he had to say.
"I thought 'Oh, what a beautiful woman, I hope she looks over at me'. I thought if I read your favourite books that you would read mine, but no, no, no, you just want to be obeyed. That's why you have dogs," he finished, nodding his head knowingly like it had all finally sunk in, before continuing to walk past her down the street. He'd never been allowed dogs, even though he'd wanted them and even at his most obedient he was still too free-willed to be one.
Shoving his hands further into his pockets, he kicked a stone and watched it roll across the pavement, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breathe as he walked before opening his eyes, turning to apologise. Okay, he wasn't going to flat out make amends, but he was going to offer something big and pointless so that she could get there in time.
Only there was no Jocelyn. No darkened alleyway, no streetlights and warehouses. Instead there were trees, rows and rows of trees and a boardwalk in front of him. It was something right out of The Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits or maybe even Doctor Who.
"Jocelyn?" He turned around once again and saw pasture with cows and sheep. "Jocelyn? Anyone? Sarah Jane?"
[ooc: open to any and all. the first person gets to explain things, everyone else can find him either outside the compound or in it.]