Sanctuary fic -- Dizzy
The next story in my series about the early days of The Five, following The Best Laid Plans, Withering on the Vine, Consolation and Electricity.
John Druitt did not want to fall in love.
John Druitt did not want to fall in love.
Love was, in his experience, a very inconvenient thing consisting of following around girls who had not the slightest interest in one, hoping that they would deign to notice. If they did, it was usually to make their escape as quickly as possible. On one memorable occasion he had in fact seen the girl five times at picnics in a mixed party, and at last got up the nerve to present her with twelve stanzas of verse of his own composition, detailing how his heart very nearly ceased to beat when in her immediate vicinity. She had read it while he waited with bated breath, then lifted her lovely eyes to his and said, "Dear Mr. Druitt! I am so sorry! I wish I might return your affections, noble as they are! But you see, I am hopelessly in love with my best friend's fiancé, and live in hope that she will contract a rare disease and die. I cannot return your love, and given that your cause is hopeless, we should not see each other again."
Such was love. It was the sort of thing that made one wish one's best friend dead.
Sex, on the other hand, had much to be said for it. Shortly after his matriculation he had visited Hetty, as many an undergraduate had, and for a sum not to be sneezed at had joined the brotherhood of mankind, a boy no longer. And while it was merely an exchange, Hetty businesslike and frank about it, it did offer a window into the opportunities that might exist.
There were wealthy students who kept mistresses, but a little discreet inquiry into how much it cost to keep a pretty, clean girl in rooms of her own made it clear that John Druitt was not going to be doing that anytime soon, not on his allowance. He was a gentleman, but his father had nothing like the deep pockets that some did. Thus there was Hetty (or her friend Mary) no more than twice a semester if he wanted to have anything left to spend.
Of course there were other vices, and schoolboy misdemeanors now left behind. After all, doing oneself in the same room as one's friend while he watched wasn't properly sex. Just curiosity, and returning the favor. All boys did things like that, until they became far too little for men's appetites.
Case in point, James. That had all faded into the background long since, leaving friendship behind. In fact, James hadn't once brought it up in word or deed since John had triumphantly told him about Hetty and recommended her highly for James' education. It was the least a friend could do, to pass on one's own good fortune.
And now James had gotten himself entangled in a terrible mess. He had to pretend to pay court to a harpy in order to retain his surgical internship with the girl's father. That the girl was probably a Sapphist and had as much interest in the courtship as James didn't play into it. It was still perfectly clear that James found this a trial of the most severe kind, and that the invitation (clearly wrangled by the girl's father) to a Christmas ball sent James into an utter panic. A friend stood by a man at times like these.
"Look, old boy," John said soothingly, "One dance, or two at the most. Lead her out early in the night, do the honors, and then you can pass her on."
"No, I can't," James said testily. "Because what am I to do if no one else dances with her? If she's standing there alone, and I'm standing there alone, I'll have to buckle down and do it. And I can't dance."
Which was true. John had given him a crash course, but as far as he could tell it hadn't done much good. James could manage only by dint of counting out loud as though he were at drill, or if led by someone significantly taller. Which was of no use under the circumstances.
"I'll take a turn," John said. "Don't worry. If it comes to it, I'll dance with her myself and you'll be off the hook."
"Truly?" James had an almost hopeful look. "I'll owe you the moon and the stars if you'll handle this for me."
"One dance," John said. "You lead her out once for form's sake, and then I'll take her off your hands for the rest of the night."
"I owe you," James said fairly, his voice almost shaking with relief.
"Think nothing of it," John said with a grin. "At least not until I have to stand examinations in Greek!"
"Any help you need, old man," James said with an affectionate clap on the shoulder. "I only hope it's not too bad for you."
And thus he came down to it, standing in a ballroom decked with holly and ivy, wearing his best suit and combed within an inch of his life, looking around for James. It took quite some time to spot him as it was very crowded. Every respectable person in Oxford seemed to be trying to get into the hall, excepting those who were rich enough to find the event rusticating. By John's standards it was quite an event. There was an orchestra suitable for dancing which had already struck up a merry tune, a long buffet table laden with ham and goose, and ropes of greenery hung from the chandeliers which had all been piped for gas and glittered in a snowy confection of crystals.
When he finally spotted James in the press he seemed to have already rid himself of the harpy. Instead he was talking to a young lady in a blue dress, her high dressed hair held in combs decorated with Czech crystals, one golden ringlet falling against the side of her neck. She half turned, still in conversation with James, displaying a perfect profile. John made his way through the throng with all possible speed, nigh to appearing at James' side. She looked up at him and smiled, blue eyes exactly the cornflower color of her dress, which curved appreciatively over the white swell of breasts just barely displayed by her square neckline, and John found it suddenly hard to breathe. It was as though all the air in the room had suddenly disappeared. It was as though he were suddenly naked under that searching cerulean glance, exhumed and examined quite thoroughly, dissected for her evaluation.
And then she smiled, and the world was righted.
It was possible small cherubs sang in the overhanging greenery.
"May I present my best friend, Mr. Druitt?" James said at some indefinable distance away. He might have been in India.
"Mr. Druitt." She offered her hand to him, and he bent over it, the faint scent of roses and formaldehyde rising from her white kid gloves.
"A pleasure," he said.
"This is Miss Magnus," James said from whatever distant country he inhabited.
Those eyes. And that smile. And she did not look away, but held his gaze brazenly, as though they shared some secret joke. As though she found him as interesting as he found her.
"You should dance," James prompted.
He stood there holding her hand, bent over it as if frozen eternally in greeting. Her smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Dance," John said.
"Dance," she said.
"Why don't we?"
"If you like."
She was very tall, and he did not have to reach down far. "It's a Viennese waltz," he said. "The counter spin can be dizzying."
"I shan't be dizzy," she said, and still her eyes never left his.
"I may be."
"Then I will hold you up, Mr. Druitt." Her smile broadened.
"I expect you shall," he said. He had the feeling he would never stop falling.
I'd love to hear what you guys think!
John Druitt did not want to fall in love.
John Druitt did not want to fall in love.
Love was, in his experience, a very inconvenient thing consisting of following around girls who had not the slightest interest in one, hoping that they would deign to notice. If they did, it was usually to make their escape as quickly as possible. On one memorable occasion he had in fact seen the girl five times at picnics in a mixed party, and at last got up the nerve to present her with twelve stanzas of verse of his own composition, detailing how his heart very nearly ceased to beat when in her immediate vicinity. She had read it while he waited with bated breath, then lifted her lovely eyes to his and said, "Dear Mr. Druitt! I am so sorry! I wish I might return your affections, noble as they are! But you see, I am hopelessly in love with my best friend's fiancé, and live in hope that she will contract a rare disease and die. I cannot return your love, and given that your cause is hopeless, we should not see each other again."
Such was love. It was the sort of thing that made one wish one's best friend dead.
Sex, on the other hand, had much to be said for it. Shortly after his matriculation he had visited Hetty, as many an undergraduate had, and for a sum not to be sneezed at had joined the brotherhood of mankind, a boy no longer. And while it was merely an exchange, Hetty businesslike and frank about it, it did offer a window into the opportunities that might exist.
There were wealthy students who kept mistresses, but a little discreet inquiry into how much it cost to keep a pretty, clean girl in rooms of her own made it clear that John Druitt was not going to be doing that anytime soon, not on his allowance. He was a gentleman, but his father had nothing like the deep pockets that some did. Thus there was Hetty (or her friend Mary) no more than twice a semester if he wanted to have anything left to spend.
Of course there were other vices, and schoolboy misdemeanors now left behind. After all, doing oneself in the same room as one's friend while he watched wasn't properly sex. Just curiosity, and returning the favor. All boys did things like that, until they became far too little for men's appetites.
Case in point, James. That had all faded into the background long since, leaving friendship behind. In fact, James hadn't once brought it up in word or deed since John had triumphantly told him about Hetty and recommended her highly for James' education. It was the least a friend could do, to pass on one's own good fortune.
And now James had gotten himself entangled in a terrible mess. He had to pretend to pay court to a harpy in order to retain his surgical internship with the girl's father. That the girl was probably a Sapphist and had as much interest in the courtship as James didn't play into it. It was still perfectly clear that James found this a trial of the most severe kind, and that the invitation (clearly wrangled by the girl's father) to a Christmas ball sent James into an utter panic. A friend stood by a man at times like these.
"Look, old boy," John said soothingly, "One dance, or two at the most. Lead her out early in the night, do the honors, and then you can pass her on."
"No, I can't," James said testily. "Because what am I to do if no one else dances with her? If she's standing there alone, and I'm standing there alone, I'll have to buckle down and do it. And I can't dance."
Which was true. John had given him a crash course, but as far as he could tell it hadn't done much good. James could manage only by dint of counting out loud as though he were at drill, or if led by someone significantly taller. Which was of no use under the circumstances.
"I'll take a turn," John said. "Don't worry. If it comes to it, I'll dance with her myself and you'll be off the hook."
"Truly?" James had an almost hopeful look. "I'll owe you the moon and the stars if you'll handle this for me."
"One dance," John said. "You lead her out once for form's sake, and then I'll take her off your hands for the rest of the night."
"I owe you," James said fairly, his voice almost shaking with relief.
"Think nothing of it," John said with a grin. "At least not until I have to stand examinations in Greek!"
"Any help you need, old man," James said with an affectionate clap on the shoulder. "I only hope it's not too bad for you."
And thus he came down to it, standing in a ballroom decked with holly and ivy, wearing his best suit and combed within an inch of his life, looking around for James. It took quite some time to spot him as it was very crowded. Every respectable person in Oxford seemed to be trying to get into the hall, excepting those who were rich enough to find the event rusticating. By John's standards it was quite an event. There was an orchestra suitable for dancing which had already struck up a merry tune, a long buffet table laden with ham and goose, and ropes of greenery hung from the chandeliers which had all been piped for gas and glittered in a snowy confection of crystals.
When he finally spotted James in the press he seemed to have already rid himself of the harpy. Instead he was talking to a young lady in a blue dress, her high dressed hair held in combs decorated with Czech crystals, one golden ringlet falling against the side of her neck. She half turned, still in conversation with James, displaying a perfect profile. John made his way through the throng with all possible speed, nigh to appearing at James' side. She looked up at him and smiled, blue eyes exactly the cornflower color of her dress, which curved appreciatively over the white swell of breasts just barely displayed by her square neckline, and John found it suddenly hard to breathe. It was as though all the air in the room had suddenly disappeared. It was as though he were suddenly naked under that searching cerulean glance, exhumed and examined quite thoroughly, dissected for her evaluation.
And then she smiled, and the world was righted.
It was possible small cherubs sang in the overhanging greenery.
"May I present my best friend, Mr. Druitt?" James said at some indefinable distance away. He might have been in India.
"Mr. Druitt." She offered her hand to him, and he bent over it, the faint scent of roses and formaldehyde rising from her white kid gloves.
"A pleasure," he said.
"This is Miss Magnus," James said from whatever distant country he inhabited.
Those eyes. And that smile. And she did not look away, but held his gaze brazenly, as though they shared some secret joke. As though she found him as interesting as he found her.
"You should dance," James prompted.
He stood there holding her hand, bent over it as if frozen eternally in greeting. Her smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Dance," John said.
"Dance," she said.
"Why don't we?"
"If you like."
She was very tall, and he did not have to reach down far. "It's a Viennese waltz," he said. "The counter spin can be dizzying."
"I shan't be dizzy," she said, and still her eyes never left his.
"I may be."
"Then I will hold you up, Mr. Druitt." Her smile broadened.
"I expect you shall," he said. He had the feeling he would never stop falling.
I'd love to hear what you guys think!