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Entry tags:
The Writing Game: Some Men Are Made
TITLE: Some Men Are Made
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
momebie
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 769
FEEDBACK: On || FEEDBACK TYPE: Tactful
WARNING: None
SUMMARY: Something old, same thing new.
PROMPTS: Something that's lost, horologium.
A/N: And this is an odd little thing. It came from several different places and almost no place at all. The first watch is something like this and is late 18th C. in origin.
He almost stepped on it. The pocket watch was laying at the edge of a puddle on the cobblestoned street. The wet stones were already reflecting the lamplight and they made the watch appear dull in comparison. When Danvers did realize it was there he misstepped to try and step over it, but instead sent it bouncing off the tip of his shoe and toward the gutter. He held his breath. It came to a rest several inches from the drain and away from the pull of the escaping water.
Taking his handkerchief from his lapel pocket he bent over and picked it up. He turned it over a few times in his fingers studying the casing. In the soft glow of the gas lamps the figure on the front of it looked like a stag’s head, but he couldn’t account for the twist of antlers that made up the bulk of the decoration.
“No stag worth his lineage would be seen in such an unruly state,” he muttered to himself. He spent a few more moments studying the dulling scratches on the back of the case before he gently wrapped it and placed it in his trouser pocket. In the morning he’d take it by the horloger and see if it couldn’t be returned to its owner. For the moment though, he was terribly late for a date with his dressing gown and some warm tea.
. . .
Danvers lived alone, in spite of his mother’s constant implication that he should take on a house maid. He didn’t feel it was practical for a man of his means, and one who was so particular about the peculiar way he liked things done, to leave such matters in the hands of another. It would have been frivolous, and possibly cruel. Most importantly, perhaps, Danvers lived alone because he liked living alone. Because of all this, he was not expecting there to be a woman in his bedroom when it was finally time to turn himself in for the night.
Her skin was a warm, mahogany brown. She was wearing a simple white gown and a golden riding cape and reaching for the pocket watch, which was laying, still wrapped in his handkerchief, on the corner of his dresser. Danvers cleared his throat. The woman jerked her hand away and turned to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But if this bauble belongs to you I would appreciate it if you would wait until morning. Most unseemly, sneaking into men’s bedrooms this late in the evening.”
“It’s not so late,” she said.
“It is ten of one!” he sputtered. “And how did you get in in the first place?”
“You brought me,” she said.
Danvers blinked. Maybe he was hallucinating. The new sleep tincture had worked for almost a month now, but his physician had warned him of possible opiatic side effects building up over regular use. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I will return you to the horloger first thing in the morning. He can help us locate your owner.”
“You’re my owner.”
“Young lady, I do not know how they do things on the continent, though I’ve heard stories. Ghastly them, but I most assuredly do not and would not own any peoples, even if they gave themselves to me so freely, even if they were disguised as timekeeping implements. Imagine. Maybe there is a little man in my mantle clock! And anyway, I do not appreciate my subconscious’ assumption that I might.”
She smiled and Danvers suddenly felt warmth seep down to his very bones. She picked up the watch and unwrapped it. Its casing glowed slightly as she cupped it in her hands to bear across the room to him. She held it out. At first he refused to take it, but it didn’t seem that either of them would break from the impasse if he didn’t do something. He accepted it.
Looking at it he noted that the case was shiny and gold and new. The apparition of the stag had been replaced by a sensible engraving of a constellation that was roughly the shape of a curved walking cane. “Remarkable,” he said.
When he looked up he saw her anew, as if his eyes were unable to focus entirely. There was a sort of reddish haze about her edges and he could see in her face what she used to be, what she was, and what she would be at the end of all things. “Remarkable,” he said again, more hushed this time.
“The seconds are slipping away, sir” she said. “We have work to do.”
AUTHOR:
momebieRATING: G
WORD COUNT: 769
FEEDBACK: On || FEEDBACK TYPE: Tactful
WARNING: None
SUMMARY: Something old, same thing new.
PROMPTS: Something that's lost, horologium.
A/N: And this is an odd little thing. It came from several different places and almost no place at all. The first watch is something like this and is late 18th C. in origin.
He almost stepped on it. The pocket watch was laying at the edge of a puddle on the cobblestoned street. The wet stones were already reflecting the lamplight and they made the watch appear dull in comparison. When Danvers did realize it was there he misstepped to try and step over it, but instead sent it bouncing off the tip of his shoe and toward the gutter. He held his breath. It came to a rest several inches from the drain and away from the pull of the escaping water.
Taking his handkerchief from his lapel pocket he bent over and picked it up. He turned it over a few times in his fingers studying the casing. In the soft glow of the gas lamps the figure on the front of it looked like a stag’s head, but he couldn’t account for the twist of antlers that made up the bulk of the decoration.
“No stag worth his lineage would be seen in such an unruly state,” he muttered to himself. He spent a few more moments studying the dulling scratches on the back of the case before he gently wrapped it and placed it in his trouser pocket. In the morning he’d take it by the horloger and see if it couldn’t be returned to its owner. For the moment though, he was terribly late for a date with his dressing gown and some warm tea.
. . .
Danvers lived alone, in spite of his mother’s constant implication that he should take on a house maid. He didn’t feel it was practical for a man of his means, and one who was so particular about the peculiar way he liked things done, to leave such matters in the hands of another. It would have been frivolous, and possibly cruel. Most importantly, perhaps, Danvers lived alone because he liked living alone. Because of all this, he was not expecting there to be a woman in his bedroom when it was finally time to turn himself in for the night.
Her skin was a warm, mahogany brown. She was wearing a simple white gown and a golden riding cape and reaching for the pocket watch, which was laying, still wrapped in his handkerchief, on the corner of his dresser. Danvers cleared his throat. The woman jerked her hand away and turned to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But if this bauble belongs to you I would appreciate it if you would wait until morning. Most unseemly, sneaking into men’s bedrooms this late in the evening.”
“It’s not so late,” she said.
“It is ten of one!” he sputtered. “And how did you get in in the first place?”
“You brought me,” she said.
Danvers blinked. Maybe he was hallucinating. The new sleep tincture had worked for almost a month now, but his physician had warned him of possible opiatic side effects building up over regular use. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I will return you to the horloger first thing in the morning. He can help us locate your owner.”
“You’re my owner.”
“Young lady, I do not know how they do things on the continent, though I’ve heard stories. Ghastly them, but I most assuredly do not and would not own any peoples, even if they gave themselves to me so freely, even if they were disguised as timekeeping implements. Imagine. Maybe there is a little man in my mantle clock! And anyway, I do not appreciate my subconscious’ assumption that I might.”
She smiled and Danvers suddenly felt warmth seep down to his very bones. She picked up the watch and unwrapped it. Its casing glowed slightly as she cupped it in her hands to bear across the room to him. She held it out. At first he refused to take it, but it didn’t seem that either of them would break from the impasse if he didn’t do something. He accepted it.
Looking at it he noted that the case was shiny and gold and new. The apparition of the stag had been replaced by a sensible engraving of a constellation that was roughly the shape of a curved walking cane. “Remarkable,” he said.
When he looked up he saw her anew, as if his eyes were unable to focus entirely. There was a sort of reddish haze about her edges and he could see in her face what she used to be, what she was, and what she would be at the end of all things. “Remarkable,” he said again, more hushed this time.
“The seconds are slipping away, sir” she said. “We have work to do.”