storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-01-07 03:42 pm
storypaint) wrote2009-01-07 03:42 pm
Entry tags:
Where the Wild Things Are (Jane gen)
Title: Where the Wild Things Are
Length: 816 words
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days: 4 Oct 08 // where the wild things are
Pairing: OMC/Jane; Jane gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: When she is eight, Jane is caught climbing trees with her male cousins and her mother's verbal lashing is the strongest reprimand she can ever remember receiving. Soon she will be putting on her gloves and going out into society, her mother says. It is not a young woman's place to climb trees and rush about through the town. She will be a lady.
England is a cultured place, the gardens tame and the people polite. Everything-- everyone has a place where they belong, fitting onto carefully crafted shelves of society. Except... well, some people never fit into the era where they are born.
When she is eight, Jane is caught climbing trees with her male cousins and her mother's verbal lashing is the strongest reprimand she can ever remember receiving. Soon she will be putting on her gloves and going out into society, her mother says. It is not a young woman's place to climb trees and rush about through the town. She will be a lady.
Jane starts crying halfway through and something about her daughter's earnest face eases her mother's anger. Carefully she strips off her left glove, looking around the parlor as though she fears being seen bare-handed. It is something that Jane herself has rarely seen away from the bath. She stares as her mother hands her the white object.
One day, her mother says fondly, and Jane clutches the glove like a promise. She tries it on later, under the covers, as though someone will punish her for daring. It is much too big and she tucks it away in her drawer the next day. When her cousins come to visit next, she sits in the parlor with her mother and her mother lets her drink tea like a big girl.
Jane doesn't wear her mother's glove until she goes to her mother's funeral, one mismatched glove clutched fiercely around a black umbrella, her other hand in her father's. Her eyes blur as the priest drones and she wonders why an umbrella can't do anything to prevent this rain.
*
His name is Gregory and he's a man any woman would dream about. His hair is dark and his smile is constant, and he loves to brush her delicate (gloved) hands in passing. And maybe she likes him a little. Just a little.
"Tell me more about your trip to Africa," she says breathlessly, filling herself up with images of fierce gorillas and unforgiving jaguars until her father finishes his business and it's time to go.
She guesses it is to be expected when he comes to court her the next week. After all, she listened to his stories with such joy. But this... courting... she isn't ready for this. She has so much life left to live before she marries.
She tells her father this and he laughs easily. He is indulgent of her whims, probably more often than he should be. But she has no mother and he has no sons, so he teaches her the things he thinks a human being (not just a woman) should know.
"You're a wild thing," he says, tweaking her nose, and she giggles. Then he goes back to planning his trip. It is an elaborate thing-- obtaining funding, deciding the focus, searching for a guide. One doesn't go into the jungle without some sort of aid.
She meets Gregory in the parlor and listens to him rhapsodize about her eyes for one long, painful moment before she interrupts.
"I'm going to Africa with Father next month, Gregory. Isn't it thrilling? Perhaps we will find the gorillas!"
He looks at her like he's never seen her before.
"That's not a woman's job," he says.
She shrugs. "Father needs a secretary... and I think I would like to do some research of my own. The more we know about the magnificent apes, the better."
Gregory makes his excuses and leaves. She just shrugs and goes back to work.
*
When the boat thuds heavily onto the beach sand, she breathes in thick jungle air and anticipation hangs heavy in the humidity. She has a million things she wants to do, suddenly, so she fiddles with her gloves and her umbrella, wishing that it was only her and her father so that she might be able to wear something a little more appropriate for the mission and the climate.
Clayton smiles down at her indulgently, seeing her impatience, and she wrinkles her nose as she steps onto the sand. She looks up at the trees, green and bright and beautiful, and thinks that they are more beautiful than the gardens at home, more real.
They all tell her not to go out at night-- that there are wild things creeping through the bushes-- and she nods and smiles and goes out the first night anyway, running her bare hands through the sands like a promise, and looking into the dark jungle. The moon penetrates only a little into the canopy, and the sounds all around her are a cacophony of animal noises.
Perhaps she is supposed to be afraid, but she stays out to watch the sun rise before she sets to work.
Length: 816 words
Prompt:
31_days: 4 Oct 08 // where the wild things arePairing: OMC/Jane; Jane gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: When she is eight, Jane is caught climbing trees with her male cousins and her mother's verbal lashing is the strongest reprimand she can ever remember receiving. Soon she will be putting on her gloves and going out into society, her mother says. It is not a young woman's place to climb trees and rush about through the town. She will be a lady.
England is a cultured place, the gardens tame and the people polite. Everything-- everyone has a place where they belong, fitting onto carefully crafted shelves of society. Except... well, some people never fit into the era where they are born.
When she is eight, Jane is caught climbing trees with her male cousins and her mother's verbal lashing is the strongest reprimand she can ever remember receiving. Soon she will be putting on her gloves and going out into society, her mother says. It is not a young woman's place to climb trees and rush about through the town. She will be a lady.
Jane starts crying halfway through and something about her daughter's earnest face eases her mother's anger. Carefully she strips off her left glove, looking around the parlor as though she fears being seen bare-handed. It is something that Jane herself has rarely seen away from the bath. She stares as her mother hands her the white object.
One day, her mother says fondly, and Jane clutches the glove like a promise. She tries it on later, under the covers, as though someone will punish her for daring. It is much too big and she tucks it away in her drawer the next day. When her cousins come to visit next, she sits in the parlor with her mother and her mother lets her drink tea like a big girl.
Jane doesn't wear her mother's glove until she goes to her mother's funeral, one mismatched glove clutched fiercely around a black umbrella, her other hand in her father's. Her eyes blur as the priest drones and she wonders why an umbrella can't do anything to prevent this rain.
*
His name is Gregory and he's a man any woman would dream about. His hair is dark and his smile is constant, and he loves to brush her delicate (gloved) hands in passing. And maybe she likes him a little. Just a little.
"Tell me more about your trip to Africa," she says breathlessly, filling herself up with images of fierce gorillas and unforgiving jaguars until her father finishes his business and it's time to go.
She guesses it is to be expected when he comes to court her the next week. After all, she listened to his stories with such joy. But this... courting... she isn't ready for this. She has so much life left to live before she marries.
She tells her father this and he laughs easily. He is indulgent of her whims, probably more often than he should be. But she has no mother and he has no sons, so he teaches her the things he thinks a human being (not just a woman) should know.
"You're a wild thing," he says, tweaking her nose, and she giggles. Then he goes back to planning his trip. It is an elaborate thing-- obtaining funding, deciding the focus, searching for a guide. One doesn't go into the jungle without some sort of aid.
She meets Gregory in the parlor and listens to him rhapsodize about her eyes for one long, painful moment before she interrupts.
"I'm going to Africa with Father next month, Gregory. Isn't it thrilling? Perhaps we will find the gorillas!"
He looks at her like he's never seen her before.
"That's not a woman's job," he says.
She shrugs. "Father needs a secretary... and I think I would like to do some research of my own. The more we know about the magnificent apes, the better."
Gregory makes his excuses and leaves. She just shrugs and goes back to work.
*
When the boat thuds heavily onto the beach sand, she breathes in thick jungle air and anticipation hangs heavy in the humidity. She has a million things she wants to do, suddenly, so she fiddles with her gloves and her umbrella, wishing that it was only her and her father so that she might be able to wear something a little more appropriate for the mission and the climate.
Clayton smiles down at her indulgently, seeing her impatience, and she wrinkles her nose as she steps onto the sand. She looks up at the trees, green and bright and beautiful, and thinks that they are more beautiful than the gardens at home, more real.
They all tell her not to go out at night-- that there are wild things creeping through the bushes-- and she nods and smiles and goes out the first night anyway, running her bare hands through the sands like a promise, and looking into the dark jungle. The moon penetrates only a little into the canopy, and the sounds all around her are a cacophony of animal noises.
Perhaps she is supposed to be afraid, but she stays out to watch the sun rise before she sets to work.