Fic: The ABCs of Being Djaq
Title: The ABCs of Being Djaq
Author: roh_wyn
Word Count: 600 (6 x 100)
Rating: PG
Characters: Djaq, mentions the gang, Marian
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of BBC and Tiger Aspect. The legend belongs to all of us.
Notes: Based on a constrained writing exercise from my creative writing class. The idea is to write drabbles for prompts that start with the letters A through Z, with each of the drabbles beginning with that same letter. There are twenty six of these (naturally), but I'm posting them in small batches for rh_intercomm to avoid spamming!
Summary: Djaq introspects her way through the alphabet.
Uniform
Underneath the veils and restrictive robes she is required to wear, Djaq still dresses like an outlaw.
Before, the robes had been just clothes. When she had spared them a second thought, they had been familiar, a sort of protection from prying eyes.
But now she sees them for what they really are. They are uniforms, meant to make everyone seem the same, to erase their individual personalities and silence their voices. But she will not be clubbed in with others of her kind, just because of an accident of birth.
She is not a soldier, after all. Not anymore.
Victory
Vexed by her inability to save Marian’s life, and crushed by Robin’s obvious anguish, Djaq’s rational mind retreats. When the Sheriff’s men attack the gang, she is possessed by a rage she has only experienced once before. It courses through her veins and pours out of her in a primeval scream that frightens both friend and foe.
It is not long before her enemy is beaten, vanquished by anger as much as by skill. But as she leans on her sword trying to catch her breath, there is no exhilaration, no joy over an enemy’s defeat.
There is no victory.
Whistle
“Well, you just put your lips together and blow,” Allan suggests matter-of-factly.
Much clucks his tongue in sympathy. “I can’t whistle either. I just call out when I get here.” She is trying to learn to whistle, so she can have her own unique call, as all the others already do.
Will says nothing, offers no advice or practical tips. Instead, he hands her a small wooden object. She is grateful and gives him her brightest smile, wondering at the way he blushes and slinks away.
When she lets out a short, sharp blast with her new whistle, nobody laughs.
‘X’ marks the spot
“’X’, that’s where the treasure will be,” Allan exclaims, brandishing the map at them. Robin scoffs, and refuses to go on a treasure hunt.
Djaq agrees to join him on his quest, probably because she’s amused he would seek out buried treasure in the forest. Will comes along too, probably to catch Allan making a fool of himself. “What if there’s no treasure?”
Allan shrugs and catches sight of Djaq walking a few feet ahead. He enjoys looking at her, realizes her clothes don’t hide everything. “You know what, mate? It’s alright if there’s no treasure. I’ve found something better.”
Yellow
Yawns of boredom greeted her when Djaq walked into the camp. Things had been slow on the roads to Nottingham, and the thick blanket of snow was not helping.
“You know, if you’re bored, you could help me collect some of the things I need.” She let Much and Allan follow her into the woods, verbally listing things they needed to look for. When she got to the end of the list, they both gaped at her. “You can’t be serious, Djaq! What do you need that for?”
“I’ll tell you later. Meanwhile, just keep looking for the yellow snow.”
(Author’s note: One of the ingredients used in making black powder is saltpeter, and traditionally, this required copious amounts of urine).
Zealot
Zara. Djaq remembers her first visit there. The grubby hands of slave traders, those of men whose vile cruelty was matched only by their blind zealotry, had grabbed her and flung her out of the ship and into the open marketplace. She’d had no energy, hardly any will to live. But there had been a small reserve of spirit that had kept her alive, helped her keep her dignity.
As they near Zara again, she travels with her friends, Christian men filled with a different sort of zeal, to fight injustice and cruelty, and she knows she’s come full circle.
Author: roh_wyn
Word Count: 600 (6 x 100)
Rating: PG
Characters: Djaq, mentions the gang, Marian
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of BBC and Tiger Aspect. The legend belongs to all of us.
Notes: Based on a constrained writing exercise from my creative writing class. The idea is to write drabbles for prompts that start with the letters A through Z, with each of the drabbles beginning with that same letter. There are twenty six of these (naturally), but I'm posting them in small batches for rh_intercomm to avoid spamming!
Summary: Djaq introspects her way through the alphabet.
Uniform
Underneath the veils and restrictive robes she is required to wear, Djaq still dresses like an outlaw.
Before, the robes had been just clothes. When she had spared them a second thought, they had been familiar, a sort of protection from prying eyes.
But now she sees them for what they really are. They are uniforms, meant to make everyone seem the same, to erase their individual personalities and silence their voices. But she will not be clubbed in with others of her kind, just because of an accident of birth.
She is not a soldier, after all. Not anymore.
Victory
Vexed by her inability to save Marian’s life, and crushed by Robin’s obvious anguish, Djaq’s rational mind retreats. When the Sheriff’s men attack the gang, she is possessed by a rage she has only experienced once before. It courses through her veins and pours out of her in a primeval scream that frightens both friend and foe.
It is not long before her enemy is beaten, vanquished by anger as much as by skill. But as she leans on her sword trying to catch her breath, there is no exhilaration, no joy over an enemy’s defeat.
There is no victory.
Whistle
“Well, you just put your lips together and blow,” Allan suggests matter-of-factly.
Much clucks his tongue in sympathy. “I can’t whistle either. I just call out when I get here.” She is trying to learn to whistle, so she can have her own unique call, as all the others already do.
Will says nothing, offers no advice or practical tips. Instead, he hands her a small wooden object. She is grateful and gives him her brightest smile, wondering at the way he blushes and slinks away.
When she lets out a short, sharp blast with her new whistle, nobody laughs.
‘X’ marks the spot
“’X’, that’s where the treasure will be,” Allan exclaims, brandishing the map at them. Robin scoffs, and refuses to go on a treasure hunt.
Djaq agrees to join him on his quest, probably because she’s amused he would seek out buried treasure in the forest. Will comes along too, probably to catch Allan making a fool of himself. “What if there’s no treasure?”
Allan shrugs and catches sight of Djaq walking a few feet ahead. He enjoys looking at her, realizes her clothes don’t hide everything. “You know what, mate? It’s alright if there’s no treasure. I’ve found something better.”
Yellow
Yawns of boredom greeted her when Djaq walked into the camp. Things had been slow on the roads to Nottingham, and the thick blanket of snow was not helping.
“You know, if you’re bored, you could help me collect some of the things I need.” She let Much and Allan follow her into the woods, verbally listing things they needed to look for. When she got to the end of the list, they both gaped at her. “You can’t be serious, Djaq! What do you need that for?”
“I’ll tell you later. Meanwhile, just keep looking for the yellow snow.”
(Author’s note: One of the ingredients used in making black powder is saltpeter, and traditionally, this required copious amounts of urine).
Zealot
Zara. Djaq remembers her first visit there. The grubby hands of slave traders, those of men whose vile cruelty was matched only by their blind zealotry, had grabbed her and flung her out of the ship and into the open marketplace. She’d had no energy, hardly any will to live. But there had been a small reserve of spirit that had kept her alive, helped her keep her dignity.
As they near Zara again, she travels with her friends, Christian men filled with a different sort of zeal, to fight injustice and cruelty, and she knows she’s come full circle.