Cherry Chocolate Chip 12, Pistachio 28: Patience
Title: Patience
Main Story: In the Heart -- EPIC PIRATE AU
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Cherry chocolate chip 12 (patience), pistachio 28 (waiting), malt (PFAH: Gina : tired of looking at it ), chopped nuts (EPIC PIRATE AU), cherry (historical fiction, introspection).
Word Count: 799
Rating: PG.
Summary: The inability to make a decision is often called patience. That inability is not always self-imposed.
Notes: So, um, Gina prior to meeting Ivy. Just prior. About an hour prior. I am so obsessed with this AU you guys.
"If you will lift your arm, please, miss."
Gina did so passively. The maid's gentle murmur was carefully pitched to stir not so much as a hair on her head. She appreciated the consideration, because it had taken a good hour to train her hair into the soft curls recently in demand, and her hair suited itself rather well to curls. She shuddered to think of what Florence Langley must go through every night, to change her stick-straight brown hair into something more fashionable.
But then they all had their own crosses to bear. Hers was just more subtle.
"If you will let out your breath, please, miss."
Gina grabbed a bedpost and exhaled as much as she could, then stared at the wall. The tapestry she stared at was old and familiar. It had hung on her bedroom wall for as long as she could remember; since she was a little girl, since before they'd come from England to this breezy little island in the blue-green sea. The tapestry itself was a soft blue-grey patterned in silver, better suited to England's grey and rainy skies than St. Kitts. One of Robert Caravecchio's little attempts to bring England to the Caribbean, she supposed.
It had worked, to an extent. She had a few very faint memories of a golden head leaning over her, a bright sun in a blue-grey and silver sky, and an even fainter memory of a song whose words she could no longer hear, but whose tune whistled faintly through her dreams and drifing moments. And over it all, the scent of violets.
A portrait of Susanna Caravecchio hung in the front hall. But Gina had always found her mother's face rather stiff and unaccepting in that portrait. She preferred those few memories that she had collected before she and her father had left England, leaving her mother behind. Before her father had lifted her up onto the same high bed that she now clung to and told her, very solemnly, that her mother had died.
The maid tugged sharply at her corset lacings and what little breath she had left came sharply out.
"My apologies, miss."
Her father had become so distant, after that. Gina had memories of him, too, lifting her up and cradling her against his chest, tickling her nose and spinning her through the air. After he'd bent over her, shadowed by a blue-grey that looked more like rainclouds now than a sunny day, he stopped touching her almost entirely. You're a growing girl now, he'd said. You must be a lady.
And a lady she'd become, as he'd demanded. She was good for nothing else, now.
"If you will lift your arms, please, miss."
The maids tied on her farthingale and brought the skirts, a light blue suited to a virgin soon to be married. Not that Ned had proposed yet, but he would, soon, possibly tonight. And Gina would accept him when he did propose. She liked Ned well enough-- Captain Swanson, she supposed she should call him, until they were married anyway-- and a girl had to marry. He was kind. It might as well be him.
The skirts closed around her waist. The bodice laced on, the sleeves tied at the shoulders, all of it blue. Ned liked her in blue. She would probably wear it a lot, as his wife.
She thought she'd be a good wife. She could keep a household with the best of them, or at least to her father's satisfaction. She wasn't certain about bearing children, but it was something every woman must do, and evidently it just came to you. Or perhaps someone explained it, after you were married, if there was something special you had to do. Gina wondered who would explain it to her, then decided it didn't matter. Ned would undoubtedly tell her what to do, as he always did.
So. She would marry Ned. She would have children. She would be a loving wife and mother, a thrifty housekeeper, a showpiece at court if they ever went back to England. She would be kind and gracious, beautiful and ornamental, passive and invisible. She would be perfect.
"Is it satisfactory, miss?"
She woke abruptly from her reverie, and looked at her image in the half-length mirror her father had imported from England at great expense. She did look perfect-- dressed in the first stare of fashion, or at least the first stare of fashion as filtered by several thousand miles of ocean, her blue silk dress almost blending into the blue-grey tapestry behind her. The very image of the perfect lady, waiting patiently on a pedastal while others made her choices for her.
Gina turned away abruptly and nodded to the maids. "It's fine," she said.
"Very good, miss."
Main Story: In the Heart -- EPIC PIRATE AU
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Cherry chocolate chip 12 (patience), pistachio 28 (waiting), malt (PFAH: Gina : tired of looking at it ), chopped nuts (EPIC PIRATE AU), cherry (historical fiction, introspection).
Word Count: 799
Rating: PG.
Summary: The inability to make a decision is often called patience. That inability is not always self-imposed.
Notes: So, um, Gina prior to meeting Ivy. Just prior. About an hour prior. I am so obsessed with this AU you guys.
"If you will lift your arm, please, miss."
Gina did so passively. The maid's gentle murmur was carefully pitched to stir not so much as a hair on her head. She appreciated the consideration, because it had taken a good hour to train her hair into the soft curls recently in demand, and her hair suited itself rather well to curls. She shuddered to think of what Florence Langley must go through every night, to change her stick-straight brown hair into something more fashionable.
But then they all had their own crosses to bear. Hers was just more subtle.
"If you will let out your breath, please, miss."
Gina grabbed a bedpost and exhaled as much as she could, then stared at the wall. The tapestry she stared at was old and familiar. It had hung on her bedroom wall for as long as she could remember; since she was a little girl, since before they'd come from England to this breezy little island in the blue-green sea. The tapestry itself was a soft blue-grey patterned in silver, better suited to England's grey and rainy skies than St. Kitts. One of Robert Caravecchio's little attempts to bring England to the Caribbean, she supposed.
It had worked, to an extent. She had a few very faint memories of a golden head leaning over her, a bright sun in a blue-grey and silver sky, and an even fainter memory of a song whose words she could no longer hear, but whose tune whistled faintly through her dreams and drifing moments. And over it all, the scent of violets.
A portrait of Susanna Caravecchio hung in the front hall. But Gina had always found her mother's face rather stiff and unaccepting in that portrait. She preferred those few memories that she had collected before she and her father had left England, leaving her mother behind. Before her father had lifted her up onto the same high bed that she now clung to and told her, very solemnly, that her mother had died.
The maid tugged sharply at her corset lacings and what little breath she had left came sharply out.
"My apologies, miss."
Her father had become so distant, after that. Gina had memories of him, too, lifting her up and cradling her against his chest, tickling her nose and spinning her through the air. After he'd bent over her, shadowed by a blue-grey that looked more like rainclouds now than a sunny day, he stopped touching her almost entirely. You're a growing girl now, he'd said. You must be a lady.
And a lady she'd become, as he'd demanded. She was good for nothing else, now.
"If you will lift your arms, please, miss."
The maids tied on her farthingale and brought the skirts, a light blue suited to a virgin soon to be married. Not that Ned had proposed yet, but he would, soon, possibly tonight. And Gina would accept him when he did propose. She liked Ned well enough-- Captain Swanson, she supposed she should call him, until they were married anyway-- and a girl had to marry. He was kind. It might as well be him.
The skirts closed around her waist. The bodice laced on, the sleeves tied at the shoulders, all of it blue. Ned liked her in blue. She would probably wear it a lot, as his wife.
She thought she'd be a good wife. She could keep a household with the best of them, or at least to her father's satisfaction. She wasn't certain about bearing children, but it was something every woman must do, and evidently it just came to you. Or perhaps someone explained it, after you were married, if there was something special you had to do. Gina wondered who would explain it to her, then decided it didn't matter. Ned would undoubtedly tell her what to do, as he always did.
So. She would marry Ned. She would have children. She would be a loving wife and mother, a thrifty housekeeper, a showpiece at court if they ever went back to England. She would be kind and gracious, beautiful and ornamental, passive and invisible. She would be perfect.
"Is it satisfactory, miss?"
She woke abruptly from her reverie, and looked at her image in the half-length mirror her father had imported from England at great expense. She did look perfect-- dressed in the first stare of fashion, or at least the first stare of fashion as filtered by several thousand miles of ocean, her blue silk dress almost blending into the blue-grey tapestry behind her. The very image of the perfect lady, waiting patiently on a pedastal while others made her choices for her.
Gina turned away abruptly and nodded to the maids. "It's fine," she said.
"Very good, miss."