Attempt to stir things up a bit!!!!
It's so quiet! Ever so quiet! Nothing's happening. Sooooo.... let's stir things up a bit.
By now Marinarusalka - wotcher! - has probably finished Checkmate and we'll soon be able to talk freely. Mariner let us know and we could have some kind of discussion? Who's your favourite character (apart from Francis). Did you spot any plot holes, anachronisms, misuse of words? We want to know.
My friend Kate and I have been reading Game of Kings again and arguing over almost every paragraph. Unfortunately she won't have an LJ or we could have argued here and you lot could have put in your four pennyworth as well. Does any one out there fancy doing something similar - either on GoK or one of the other books?
Finally and purely in a spirit of utter mischief with the intention of causing alarm and despondency and quite probably hate mail - here's a slightly wicked piece of Lymond/WillScott fan fiction written for Kate. That said I doubt if rates more than a PG13 (later I wrote another that had more grappling and less French and Latin and that's elsewhere). So - if you think you're man or woman enough...
Clearing the Air
When Will Scott got to his feet, his heartbeats were behaving oddly, but he was not slow in following the Master across the jammed leg-strewn room, up a dark stair leading from arcade to gallery, and along a long stifling passage railed off on one side from the room they had just left……
“After all,” he thought, as he rose, “I did say I’d do anything.”
He reviewed his career in crime to date, stumbling over sprawled limbs, and flinched away from a sudden uncomfortable vision of what his father, his chaplain and, strangely most affecting of all, his old nurse would have to say about it all. Instead, as he climbed the stairs, he fixed his eyes upon the gilded head, for once level with his own, of the Master, his lodestone in vice.
As if he felt the force of Will’s gaze, Lymond’s head turned and he darted a look from under his lashes that made Will’s breath catch in his throat.
“What, my Pyrrha?” the honeyed voice murmured. “Why so intense a gaze?” He stopped on the top step and turned and Will perforce, had to stop too. Eye to eye they stood and Will swallowed.
“Oh, Marigold,” the Master’s voice shook just a little. “Le plus belle de la ville, c’est moy, I know, but that surely should merely speed one’s steps on the pathway to ruin. Or,” he added with an air of discovery, “can it be - no, surely not - all those years in Paris and still a - well, the tutors have certainly slipped since my day. Follow me, felix Scotia, and complete your education.”
“My education,” Will paused, cleared his throat and resumed speaking at a more dignified register, “my education was quite complete - in all the usual respects. It is only in the more …unusual areas that it was lacking.”
“Weel, my boy Willie, that lack can be made good but not, I think, on the stairs? Number Four is our haven, milles gentils amoureux jeux se ferant la.”
Will drew breath to speak but he had already been abandoned. Slowly he followed his chief’s spurred heels across the scarred boards to the door where Lymond paused again, turning and setting his shoulders to the panels, and his lips curved in an ancient Doric smile as old a sin. He extended one of those long scarred hands and laid it with extreme delicacy upon Will’s shoulder, drawing him forward until they were almost touching. He looked up, his eyes for once calm and untainted by mockery and Will was suddenly reminded of a gaudy night when he had awoken in a strange bed and in even stranger circumstances. He also remembered how the man’s nose had felt as it mashed under his fist. At least, this time, he was awake and on his own two feet and had a choice. So why, then, did he hestitate?
“Will,” the Master said softly, “com me plairoit se monter povie droit but unless you fetch me a box I fear you will have to at least bend your knees.”
The ludicrous image made him laugh and Will forgot his fears and lowered his head, even though his heart suddenly hammered in his breast.
The practised mouth that brushed his cheek in a moth-wing kiss, paused and poised at the corner of his lips then withdrew with a sigh.
“No,” Lymond said, “I thought not but it's as well to be sure…”
Will looked down, confused and apprehensive, but the Master was grinning up at him. The mockery was back but this time it was tinged with affection.
“Sometimes, Willieken,” he said with a thread of laughter, opening the door, “one just has to try something - now we both know and hasn’t it cleared the air! Come on, my Pyrrha, changeons propos, c’est trop chante d’amours, we have business with a gentleman.”
Don't blame me - blame Kate. She wanted to know what slash was!
By now Marinarusalka - wotcher! - has probably finished Checkmate and we'll soon be able to talk freely. Mariner let us know and we could have some kind of discussion? Who's your favourite character (apart from Francis). Did you spot any plot holes, anachronisms, misuse of words? We want to know.
My friend Kate and I have been reading Game of Kings again and arguing over almost every paragraph. Unfortunately she won't have an LJ or we could have argued here and you lot could have put in your four pennyworth as well. Does any one out there fancy doing something similar - either on GoK or one of the other books?
Finally and purely in a spirit of utter mischief with the intention of causing alarm and despondency and quite probably hate mail - here's a slightly wicked piece of Lymond/WillScott fan fiction written for Kate. That said I doubt if rates more than a PG13 (later I wrote another that had more grappling and less French and Latin and that's elsewhere). So - if you think you're man or woman enough...
Clearing the Air
When Will Scott got to his feet, his heartbeats were behaving oddly, but he was not slow in following the Master across the jammed leg-strewn room, up a dark stair leading from arcade to gallery, and along a long stifling passage railed off on one side from the room they had just left……
“After all,” he thought, as he rose, “I did say I’d do anything.”
He reviewed his career in crime to date, stumbling over sprawled limbs, and flinched away from a sudden uncomfortable vision of what his father, his chaplain and, strangely most affecting of all, his old nurse would have to say about it all. Instead, as he climbed the stairs, he fixed his eyes upon the gilded head, for once level with his own, of the Master, his lodestone in vice.
As if he felt the force of Will’s gaze, Lymond’s head turned and he darted a look from under his lashes that made Will’s breath catch in his throat.
“What, my Pyrrha?” the honeyed voice murmured. “Why so intense a gaze?” He stopped on the top step and turned and Will perforce, had to stop too. Eye to eye they stood and Will swallowed.
“Oh, Marigold,” the Master’s voice shook just a little. “Le plus belle de la ville, c’est moy, I know, but that surely should merely speed one’s steps on the pathway to ruin. Or,” he added with an air of discovery, “can it be - no, surely not - all those years in Paris and still a - well, the tutors have certainly slipped since my day. Follow me, felix Scotia, and complete your education.”
“My education,” Will paused, cleared his throat and resumed speaking at a more dignified register, “my education was quite complete - in all the usual respects. It is only in the more …unusual areas that it was lacking.”
“Weel, my boy Willie, that lack can be made good but not, I think, on the stairs? Number Four is our haven, milles gentils amoureux jeux se ferant la.”
Will drew breath to speak but he had already been abandoned. Slowly he followed his chief’s spurred heels across the scarred boards to the door where Lymond paused again, turning and setting his shoulders to the panels, and his lips curved in an ancient Doric smile as old a sin. He extended one of those long scarred hands and laid it with extreme delicacy upon Will’s shoulder, drawing him forward until they were almost touching. He looked up, his eyes for once calm and untainted by mockery and Will was suddenly reminded of a gaudy night when he had awoken in a strange bed and in even stranger circumstances. He also remembered how the man’s nose had felt as it mashed under his fist. At least, this time, he was awake and on his own two feet and had a choice. So why, then, did he hestitate?
“Will,” the Master said softly, “com me plairoit se monter povie droit but unless you fetch me a box I fear you will have to at least bend your knees.”
The ludicrous image made him laugh and Will forgot his fears and lowered his head, even though his heart suddenly hammered in his breast.
The practised mouth that brushed his cheek in a moth-wing kiss, paused and poised at the corner of his lips then withdrew with a sigh.
“No,” Lymond said, “I thought not but it's as well to be sure…”
Will looked down, confused and apprehensive, but the Master was grinning up at him. The mockery was back but this time it was tinged with affection.
“Sometimes, Willieken,” he said with a thread of laughter, opening the door, “one just has to try something - now we both know and hasn’t it cleared the air! Come on, my Pyrrha, changeons propos, c’est trop chante d’amours, we have business with a gentleman.”
Don't blame me - blame Kate. She wanted to know what slash was!