Versions of Violence
Title: Versions of Violence
Characters: Elizabeth, James, slave!Anamaria, (Not so) Surprise Canon character, OC
Rating: R
Word Count: 1.000
Summary: Elizabeth and James are visiting a wealthy man to see to a business transaction. They have everything to lose and nothing good to gain. Who knew a chance meeting with a young slave would seal the deal between them and their host.
Warning: very strange AU, unanswered questions, violence
Versions of Violence
The light breaks on the sweat running down the dark form crouching on the ground in the excruciating heat that makes Elizabeth breathless and nauseous under layers of heavy clothing. Her parasol is useless against the scourging fire of the sun and the frantic movements of her fan barely keep her breathing.
The body twitches slightly, startling her. For a moment she thought it was a corpse.
If James notices the sudden tensing of her hold on his arm he gives no sign of it, he seems to be hanging on their host’s every word with rapt attention, an air of polite interest on his features. Elizabeth is glad he’s here doing all the hard work so she doesn’t have to, a lot is at stake now and she’s certain she can trust him not to fail her.
She cautiously glances at the bound body again. It looks small and fragile but there’s a momentary clenching of fists around the ropes and strong muscles dance under coffee-black skin. Coffee with a hint of milk.
James lays his hand gently above hers for a brief moment, glove brushing glove, and Elizabeth forces her attention back to the conversation. She mustn’t threaten the success of their business transaction with lack of good manners. She doesn’t look at the body again as they pass by even as she feels the heat of eyes burning her back. She smiles sweetly, like her act demands, as they take tea in the shade, served by a broad-faced, smiling black woman old enough to be her grandmother. If things turn out as they are supposed to, and if the fleeting brush of James’ fingers against hers under the table is to be believed they are, that woman might be her possession soon enough. The thought makes Elizabeth shiver despite the heat.
James offers his arm to her after tea as their host hurries ahead, called away on some matter by a tall, handsome man with eyes like coal, complexion a testimony to a white man’s affection forced on a girl of the night who didn’t own her own body. He tips his hat slightly at her as he walks away, lips curling ever so lightly as if he knew something she doesn’t and it sends a wave of cold chill through her insides.
He could destroy everything.
She swallows doubt and takes James’ arm. There are no words between her them as they walk back the path they’ve come, back to the large white ghost of a house that reminds her of a crypt more than anything. There’s no need. They’ve said all that needed to be said long ago. Last shared journeys are meant to be taken in silence.
Suddenly Elizabeth can see something moving from the corner of her eyes and she instinctively turns her head before she could remember the broken body from before. It’s the eyes she can see first, black as the night in an ocean of the purest white, calm and savage at the same time. Eerie, alluring.
They belong to a girl not much older than her, Elizabeth can see that now.
Firm breasts are on display for everyone to see, just as the rest of her young, chocolate body. Not beaten and abused as Elizabeth first thought but humiliated, broken in a more inventive and cruel way. The girl’s black hair is cropped short, accentuating the elegant shape of her head, no doubt another punishment for her crimes. Her look is challenging and wild, only her chipped, dry lips and the laboured, painful breathing are evidence of struggle and the mere sight sends a jolt of punishing thirst through Elizabeth.
Ignoring James’ embarrassed attempts at blocking out the sight, Elizabeth moves before she really knows what she’s doing, kneeling down into the dust despite James’ call, more plea than warning. There’s a bucket of water just out of reach of the bound girl - teasing cruelty, whoever did this knew what he was doing. The thought makes her shiver and Elizabeth longs to leave this wretched place and never return. She pulls her white gloves off and dips her hands into the cool water, gathering a mouthful in her white palms, offering it to the girl.
There’s a strange look in those dark eyes and instead of accepting the much needed water she spits in Elizabeth’s face, disgust distorting her beautiful features. Water pours to the ground from between Elizabeth’s fingers as she instinctively wipes the back of her hand over her cheek, now flushed with anger. Her snow-white palm connects with the girl’s milk-coffee skin with a loud slapping sound and she ignores James’ quiet gasp as they stare at each other with the slave for long moments.
Someone clears his throat nearby and Elizabeth looks up as if woken from a strange dream. Their host and his overseer are watching her, one with calm interest carefully masked, the other openly flaunting his amusement, both ignoring James’ inability to hide his pained shock.
The overseer walks up to Elizabeth and helps her up from the ground, broad, rough hands clasping hers just a bit too tight as if trying to convey a message she can’t quite read.
“It is getting quite late,” their host says coldly but his eyes are hot on Elizabeth’s skin and she doesn’t dare look back at the slave girl as she takes James’ arm.
The walk back to the house passes in a seeming calmness that usually follows the awkward dancing around a subject not breached openly but somehow resolved favourably to all concerned. James is tense, as if already regretting the deal they would sign in blood later, and there’s raw need in the glances their host throws her occasionally. Elizabeth struggles to keep the frown off her face, she’s not sure when it happened but she was sold after all while she wasn’t looking.
She experimentally places the imaginary chain around her neck with a sense of bitter satisfaction.
Lady Elizabeth Beckett.
Characters: Elizabeth, James, slave!Anamaria, (Not so) Surprise Canon character, OC
Rating: R
Word Count: 1.000
Summary: Elizabeth and James are visiting a wealthy man to see to a business transaction. They have everything to lose and nothing good to gain. Who knew a chance meeting with a young slave would seal the deal between them and their host.
Warning: very strange AU, unanswered questions, violence
Versions of Violence
The light breaks on the sweat running down the dark form crouching on the ground in the excruciating heat that makes Elizabeth breathless and nauseous under layers of heavy clothing. Her parasol is useless against the scourging fire of the sun and the frantic movements of her fan barely keep her breathing.
The body twitches slightly, startling her. For a moment she thought it was a corpse.
If James notices the sudden tensing of her hold on his arm he gives no sign of it, he seems to be hanging on their host’s every word with rapt attention, an air of polite interest on his features. Elizabeth is glad he’s here doing all the hard work so she doesn’t have to, a lot is at stake now and she’s certain she can trust him not to fail her.
She cautiously glances at the bound body again. It looks small and fragile but there’s a momentary clenching of fists around the ropes and strong muscles dance under coffee-black skin. Coffee with a hint of milk.
James lays his hand gently above hers for a brief moment, glove brushing glove, and Elizabeth forces her attention back to the conversation. She mustn’t threaten the success of their business transaction with lack of good manners. She doesn’t look at the body again as they pass by even as she feels the heat of eyes burning her back. She smiles sweetly, like her act demands, as they take tea in the shade, served by a broad-faced, smiling black woman old enough to be her grandmother. If things turn out as they are supposed to, and if the fleeting brush of James’ fingers against hers under the table is to be believed they are, that woman might be her possession soon enough. The thought makes Elizabeth shiver despite the heat.
James offers his arm to her after tea as their host hurries ahead, called away on some matter by a tall, handsome man with eyes like coal, complexion a testimony to a white man’s affection forced on a girl of the night who didn’t own her own body. He tips his hat slightly at her as he walks away, lips curling ever so lightly as if he knew something she doesn’t and it sends a wave of cold chill through her insides.
He could destroy everything.
She swallows doubt and takes James’ arm. There are no words between her them as they walk back the path they’ve come, back to the large white ghost of a house that reminds her of a crypt more than anything. There’s no need. They’ve said all that needed to be said long ago. Last shared journeys are meant to be taken in silence.
Suddenly Elizabeth can see something moving from the corner of her eyes and she instinctively turns her head before she could remember the broken body from before. It’s the eyes she can see first, black as the night in an ocean of the purest white, calm and savage at the same time. Eerie, alluring.
They belong to a girl not much older than her, Elizabeth can see that now.
Firm breasts are on display for everyone to see, just as the rest of her young, chocolate body. Not beaten and abused as Elizabeth first thought but humiliated, broken in a more inventive and cruel way. The girl’s black hair is cropped short, accentuating the elegant shape of her head, no doubt another punishment for her crimes. Her look is challenging and wild, only her chipped, dry lips and the laboured, painful breathing are evidence of struggle and the mere sight sends a jolt of punishing thirst through Elizabeth.
Ignoring James’ embarrassed attempts at blocking out the sight, Elizabeth moves before she really knows what she’s doing, kneeling down into the dust despite James’ call, more plea than warning. There’s a bucket of water just out of reach of the bound girl - teasing cruelty, whoever did this knew what he was doing. The thought makes her shiver and Elizabeth longs to leave this wretched place and never return. She pulls her white gloves off and dips her hands into the cool water, gathering a mouthful in her white palms, offering it to the girl.
There’s a strange look in those dark eyes and instead of accepting the much needed water she spits in Elizabeth’s face, disgust distorting her beautiful features. Water pours to the ground from between Elizabeth’s fingers as she instinctively wipes the back of her hand over her cheek, now flushed with anger. Her snow-white palm connects with the girl’s milk-coffee skin with a loud slapping sound and she ignores James’ quiet gasp as they stare at each other with the slave for long moments.
Someone clears his throat nearby and Elizabeth looks up as if woken from a strange dream. Their host and his overseer are watching her, one with calm interest carefully masked, the other openly flaunting his amusement, both ignoring James’ inability to hide his pained shock.
The overseer walks up to Elizabeth and helps her up from the ground, broad, rough hands clasping hers just a bit too tight as if trying to convey a message she can’t quite read.
“It is getting quite late,” their host says coldly but his eyes are hot on Elizabeth’s skin and she doesn’t dare look back at the slave girl as she takes James’ arm.
The walk back to the house passes in a seeming calmness that usually follows the awkward dancing around a subject not breached openly but somehow resolved favourably to all concerned. James is tense, as if already regretting the deal they would sign in blood later, and there’s raw need in the glances their host throws her occasionally. Elizabeth struggles to keep the frown off her face, she’s not sure when it happened but she was sold after all while she wasn’t looking.
She experimentally places the imaginary chain around her neck with a sense of bitter satisfaction.
Lady Elizabeth Beckett.