MandC: Shameless
Title: Shameless
Author: thedeepeekay
Fandom: Master and Commander
Pairing, Characters: Stephen
Rating: PG (drug use)
Spoilers: HMS Surprise
Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.
Length: 553 words
Author's Note: Written for the Song Fic Meme at perfect_duet, four snippets on Stephen, to Alisha's Attic's song Shameless. (For the second bit I thought about going with the camouflaging spying as bird watching scene, but I was running out of names. And I admit I have no idea what time of year this took place, let's just assume it was in time for oranges.)
As always, not beta'd.
Written: March 2010
Crossposted to: here and at the meme post here.
Shameless
Oh, to be
Not anyone, nameless
No tags attached, priceless
Maturin left the house behind Shepherd Market. His name had been mentioned in front of a not inconsiderable gathering, in connection with a piece of action that had attracted attention not only in Britain. Still, it would not do to abandon their plans, there was no one else who could go to Minorca, had his connections to the Confederacio. He would have to outrun any rumours. Then, afterwards, if necessary, he could take time to publish some papers long-winded enough to return to an existence of obscurity as an eccentric scholar, as good as nameless. A thankless lot, but he did not care for thanks and preferred it that way. Unrecognised, unheeded he made his way through the streets of Mayfair.
No etiquette, careless
No inhibitions, shameless
shameless
Margall eyed the hay wagon as distrustfully and with equal disdain as its passengers bestowed upon him, though he was sure the peasants' thoughts were less eloquent and instead ran more along the lines of 'dirty thieving gypsy'. Well, dirty he was, walking these dusty roads, and he had acquired more than a few fleas from his companion, quite lively specimen. The cart passed, but instead of resuming his trudge he plucked some oranges from the heavy branches of a tree, collecting them in his grimy shirt, and, biting into one so the juice ran down his chin in sticky trails, belatedly decided to pass the fence He first tried to climb it without the help of his occupied arms, then fell to his knees and wriggled below it, the idea of respecting the border it represented never once crossing his mind. He returned to the body of trees in zigzagging lines, following bugs and butterflies, his thoughts for once on the discoveries this expedition had to offer, not on the man in the bearskin waiting for him in the shade of the grove.
Oh to live
In your own world (own world)
Where it doesn't even matter
If you're young or old
By all means Stephen was stranded on the rock, his boxes blown away, the boat as lost as unfortunate Nicholls, Jack and the Surprise nowhere in sight, possibly with broken masts, ripped sails, some other damage, a cage with bars of sun and sea. But still it was paradise. The boobies alone, as tame and unafraid as man before the fall, his to observe, from egg to mature bird, the whole peculiar, literally insular little world they seemed to thrive in how hostile in its emptiness it seemed to the human eye, with its unexpected, perfectly adapted diversity of creatures… An innocent haven, free of the restrictions of civilisation, with ample opportunity to exercise his mind while the sun exorcised his pains. With an ease unlike the halted, careful movements of just days prior he kneeled down in front of the crevice and lowered his head to drink of the hot, shit infused water, his hands and knees burning on the white stone as he raised his bare arse towards the sun.
Who said the truth was in the bottle
by the side of the bed
With the "Drink Me" label
(coz I did)
The doctor counted his hundred drops. A moderate dose.
Shameless
I'm shameless
I'm shameless
I'm shameless
Author: thedeepeekay
Fandom: Master and Commander
Pairing, Characters: Stephen
Rating: PG (drug use)
Spoilers: HMS Surprise
Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.
Length: 553 words
Author's Note: Written for the Song Fic Meme at perfect_duet, four snippets on Stephen, to Alisha's Attic's song Shameless. (For the second bit I thought about going with the camouflaging spying as bird watching scene, but I was running out of names. And I admit I have no idea what time of year this took place, let's just assume it was in time for oranges.)
As always, not beta'd.
Written: March 2010
Crossposted to: here and at the meme post here.
Shameless
Oh, to be
Not anyone, nameless
No tags attached, priceless
Maturin left the house behind Shepherd Market. His name had been mentioned in front of a not inconsiderable gathering, in connection with a piece of action that had attracted attention not only in Britain. Still, it would not do to abandon their plans, there was no one else who could go to Minorca, had his connections to the Confederacio. He would have to outrun any rumours. Then, afterwards, if necessary, he could take time to publish some papers long-winded enough to return to an existence of obscurity as an eccentric scholar, as good as nameless. A thankless lot, but he did not care for thanks and preferred it that way. Unrecognised, unheeded he made his way through the streets of Mayfair.
No etiquette, careless
No inhibitions, shameless
shameless
Margall eyed the hay wagon as distrustfully and with equal disdain as its passengers bestowed upon him, though he was sure the peasants' thoughts were less eloquent and instead ran more along the lines of 'dirty thieving gypsy'. Well, dirty he was, walking these dusty roads, and he had acquired more than a few fleas from his companion, quite lively specimen. The cart passed, but instead of resuming his trudge he plucked some oranges from the heavy branches of a tree, collecting them in his grimy shirt, and, biting into one so the juice ran down his chin in sticky trails, belatedly decided to pass the fence He first tried to climb it without the help of his occupied arms, then fell to his knees and wriggled below it, the idea of respecting the border it represented never once crossing his mind. He returned to the body of trees in zigzagging lines, following bugs and butterflies, his thoughts for once on the discoveries this expedition had to offer, not on the man in the bearskin waiting for him in the shade of the grove.
Oh to live
In your own world (own world)
Where it doesn't even matter
If you're young or old
By all means Stephen was stranded on the rock, his boxes blown away, the boat as lost as unfortunate Nicholls, Jack and the Surprise nowhere in sight, possibly with broken masts, ripped sails, some other damage, a cage with bars of sun and sea. But still it was paradise. The boobies alone, as tame and unafraid as man before the fall, his to observe, from egg to mature bird, the whole peculiar, literally insular little world they seemed to thrive in how hostile in its emptiness it seemed to the human eye, with its unexpected, perfectly adapted diversity of creatures… An innocent haven, free of the restrictions of civilisation, with ample opportunity to exercise his mind while the sun exorcised his pains. With an ease unlike the halted, careful movements of just days prior he kneeled down in front of the crevice and lowered his head to drink of the hot, shit infused water, his hands and knees burning on the white stone as he raised his bare arse towards the sun.
Who said the truth was in the bottle
by the side of the bed
With the "Drink Me" label
(coz I did)
The doctor counted his hundred drops. A moderate dose.
Shameless
I'm shameless
I'm shameless
I'm shameless