#eloise stanbury

[pigeonwhumps]

Signing up

Pets of the Silver Screen masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch @maracujatangerine @clairelsonao3

Eloise signs up to be a pet.

2.5k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, dehumanisation, non-con nudity (non-sexual), collar, minor whump (Eloise is about 14/15)

Eloise swallows as she looks at the white brick with its shiny brass plaque gleaming in the morning sunlight. It's a beautiful day. She wishes she could stay out here forever.

Her stomach growls loudly, as if to remind her why that isn't an option. She has, quite literally, nothing.

She walks up to the door and presses the bell, heart in her throat. Her dress is the best she has, the only one she has, but it's frayed and faded, more patch than fabric. It might not be enough to gain her entry into society, even as a plaything. If they don't accept her... well, then she really does have nowhere to go.

The door opens to reveal a stern-looking man in a suit.

"Yes?"

"This the WRU offices?" she asks, hoping she hasn't got lost.

"Yes."

"Great. I'm 'ere to apply to be a pet."

The man looks her over with new interest. "Right this way, miss."

He leads her through a waiting area to a wooden door, knocks, and opens it. She waits until he gestures for her to enter before heading inside.

The office is very luxurious, with a large desk in the centre, covered with neatly-organised papers and a few decorative glass and copper paperweights. A globe stands on a side-table. There's nowhere for her to sit, so she stands somewhat to attention in front of the imposing man examining her from behind the desk. The door shuts with a snick, and she swallows. No backing out now.

"So. You're here to become a pet."

"Yes, sir."

He smiles slightly at that. "Good start. What's your name?"

"Eloise, sir. I dunno me last name."

"That's no problem. So tell me, why do you want to be a pet? No nonsense about this being your first choice of job or anything, I want to hear the truth."

Well, that makes it easier. She's never been as good with words as she'd like, but she can tell the truth.

"I got nowhere to go, sir. This is me last option. I 'eard I can get food every day 'ere, an' a roof over me 'ead. It's a secure job, sir, that's what the bloke at 'yde Park Corner said, an' it's for life. I need summat, sir, I ain't got nuffin else if I don't get this."

The man nods. "Sounds like you're just the type of girl we're looking for. My name is Mr Bridgers, but you can carry on addressing me as sir if you like. That's what you'll address me by if you're employed by us, anyway. Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee? Water?"

"Tea, please, sir."

"Very well." He rings a small bell and after a moment a pet enters. She's plainly dressed in a blouse and knee-length skirt, no shoes, a thick leather collar around her neck. The tattoos denoting her status are plainly visible on her forearm. She bows to Mr Bridgers, barely sparing a glance for Eloise, and sets a tray on the desk.

"Thank you, Jane. Would you like milk or sugar, Eloise?"

"No thank you, sir."

Mr Bridgers fills a teacup, then hands it to Eloise, placing a saucer at the edge of the desk. He pours some for himself before settling back into his chair and waving Jane out.

"Go on, drink. Now, I'm going to explain a bit more about what being a pet will entail. You can walk out of here at any time until the collar's around your neck, at which point you're ours for life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. The first step of the process will be to tattoo you with our logo and your number, which you will be referred by until your new owner gives you a name. You'll also be injected with a drug designed to induce amnesia. It might not work completely, it's still experimental long-term, but we find it makes pets more compliant and easy to work with. Before all this, though, you'll receive a collar and be measured for a uniform. Your own clothes will be taken off you. The collar won't be removed by us unless it's absolutely necessary, and training can take several months so you should get used to it. In my experience most owners don't remove their pet's collar either. You won't really want them to, because that means there's a reason for it. You've seen the uniform on Jane, it's a skirt and blouse, and a neat enough hairstyle, typically one meant for young girls. People like their pets looking innocent. Do you understand? There's no flexibility here."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, you'll be training in the flat upstairs from here. Pets are housed in cages at night, ten to a room. You'll eat once a day, enough to fill you up, and your behaviour will be subject to strict rules, with punishments for breaking them. Tomorrow, you will undergo a series of tests to determine what you can offer to a potential buyer, and then you will be on the market."

"I can't read or write at all, sir," interjects Eloise worriedly. Is she about to lose this?

Mr Bridgers chuckles good-naturedly. "Not those sort of tests, girl. We're looking for obedience, affection, household skills, that kind of thing."

Eloise flushes. "Yes, sir."

"Now, once you're on the market, we'll recommend you to potential buyers. They might want to view you before making a decision, that's perfectly normal, but that will only happen if our trainers deem you obedient enough. You seem to me to be a good girl, so although every pet goes through the basics I don't think you'll have anything to worry about. And then once you're bought, you'll be trained to your new owner's specifications. Any questions?"

Eloise nods. "What're the rules an' punishments like, sir? Jus' so I know what to expect."

"Nothing strenuous on the rules front. Don't speak without being spoken to, obey unquestioningly, address all staff by sir or ma'am, etc. Punishments usually involve stress positions or a light caning on the soles of your feet. Sometimes they're more severe if what you've done is a danger to yourself or others. Anything else?"

"What 'appens if me owner dies, sir?"

"Typically, you'll either be passed down in their will or resold. I can't tell you for certain though, it's down to your owner."

Eloise nods. It makes sense, she supposes. She'll be property after this.

"I don't 'ave any more questions, sir."

Mr Bridgers sits back upright and opens the largest notebook, dipping his quill into a pot of ink. He writes something down. "Right. I just have a couple of questions for you then, if you still want to become a pet."

"Yes, sir."

"Firstly, how do you feel about doing anything sexual? We'll take your preferences into account when deciding on owners."

Eloise shudders. "I'd rather not, sir, if it's all the same to you."

"Very well. Do you have any allergies?"

"No, sir."

"Is there a chance you could be pregnant?"

"No, sir."

"Do you have anyone you need to notify about your decision, any belongings to pass on?"

Eloise blinks rapidly, refusing to acknowledge the memories of her long-dead family rushing up. "No, sir."

"Final question. How old are you?"

"I ain't sure, sir."

Mr Bridgers sighs. "You have to be eighteen to be a pet, Eloise. So I'll ask again. How old are you?"

"Eighteen, sir." Eloise has to lie, she has to, even if she doesn't like lying.

"Okay then. If you're willing to sign up as a pet for life, kneel in front of my desk so I can put your collar on."

Eloise swallows hard. This is it. Her last action as a free woman. She has reservations about this, but she has to do it. She has no other options. Carefully, heart pounding hard enough that she's sure it'll explode out of her chest, she gathers up her skirt hem in her hands and kneels on the hard wood floor, head bowed. She hears Mr Bridgers round the desk, sees his polished black boots come into view as he approaches.

He crouches down in front of her, cups her hair in one hand in a strange imitation of tenderness. "From the moment I put this on you, you will be known as 95, and I will expect unquestioning obedience."

Eloise feels sick. She can't bring herself to look at the strip of leather that's sure to be in the man's hands. He drags his hand down her cheek and tilts her chin up, wrapping a thick band of leather around her neck and buckling it at the back.

Eloise gags as it's fastened. Oh, God, what's she doing here, she can barely breathe, this was foolish. The collar's choking her. She tries to claw at it, get more air in, but someone catches her hands.

Mr Bridgers catches her hands.

"Hey, hey, calm, 95. Breathe. I haven't seen anyone react so strongly in a while. You can handle this."

Eloise forces herself to take breaths, one after the other, just to prove that she still can.

"Sorry, sir," she whispers.

"It's fine. We won't move to the full tightness just yet. I'll give you a chance to get used to your collar first."

Tighter? It's going to be tighter? She whimpers. It's so restrictive already, so heavy against her collarbone. And he's going to make it tighter?

"95!" Mr Bridgers shouts, and she freezes. "I've given you leniency, now pull yourself together before you earn yourself a punishment. Right now."

Eloise breathes and forces herself to look up. Mr Bridgers nods approvingly.

"Good girl. As you know, your number is now 95, that will be all you'll be addressed by here and I don't want to hear you call yourself anything else either. Address the staff and any other people you may encounter as sir or ma'am unless otherwise indicated, and don't speak unless you're told to. I don't want a sound out of you without permission. No making eye contact with people either. You are no longer a person, you are a pet, with the same status as animals, and you will be treated accordingly. You will treat people as they deserve to be treated, beings far above you. Your life is no longer your own. I expect and will have unquestioning obedience, to me and to the rest of this organisation. Is that clear?"

Eloise bows her head, looking away from Mr Bridgers. His harsh tone makes her shiver, so different to how he spoke to her earlier. It feels like a lashing.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now let me take a look at you." She stays completely still as he lifts her chin again, tilting her head from side to side, then circling her. "You're very cute. I reckon you'll be sold as a lapdog. Performing pets are popular too, if you can pick up skills. Now strip and head through that door to the adjoining room. Once you're there, kneel in the appointed spot. Someone will be there to take your measurements and prepare you shortly. Think of this as a test of your ability to kneel. You should always kneel when you're staying in one place with your owner, you'll receive further training on that later. Go."

Eloise takes off her old dress as quickly as possible and heads into the adjoining room, leaving her dress where it is – she didn't get any instructions on that, after all.

The room is warm, whitewashed brick with a large window that lets in the sunlight, and she proceeds to a large square on the floorboards marked out with white paint. There's a ring embedded at roughly head-height in the wall and she kneels down beside it nervously, trying not to think about what it might be for. They're tattooing her today, and she needs to prepare herself for the pain. She stares out of the window at the tiled rooftops, ignoring the rest of the room, trying not to think about anything else.

It doesn't work.

She's not free anymore. She's owned, a pet, the lowest rung of society. Even lower than she was previously. She doesn't have control over anything in her life. Not even her own body.

Her life as a free person is over. She needs to forget about that. This is her new life now, everything that matters.

Grief wells up unexpectedly, large and lumpy and wet, sitting heavily in her throat. She didn't think she'd feel anything about leaving her old life, it's not like there was much to it, but now she finds herself missing the dirty streets and leaf-strewn gutters, even the children that used to bully her and the adults that used to shout. But at least she could make the decision to leave or fight them.

At least she has a chance at a meal here. It's been a while since she last had one. Even if the trade-off is the choking sensation around her neck, and the loss of free will forever.

The door opens and Eloise keeps her head lowered as footsteps enter.

"Right. 95, is it? On your feet." Eloise obeys and a woman stops in front of her, attaching a chain leash to a loop on her collar and then to the ring on the wall. "I'm here to measure you, clean you up, and sort out your injection and tattoos. Once you're prepared someone will take you to the kennels, where you'll stay until your tests begin. I won't tolerate any hesitation or sound, if you think the pain is going to make you cry out tell me now and I'll fetch you a gag. Do you think you'll need one? It's a one-time only offer, and you won't be given it after today either. If you say no and then make a sound, you'll be punished."

Eloise doesn't have a choice. She's always been squeamish, and the size of those tattoos...

"Yes, ma'am."

"Right." The woman's footsteps cross the room and then she's back, folding a strip of cloth between Eloise's teeth and tying it behind her head. "I'll remove it to clean your face and hair, but you can wear it until then. I'm going to measure you now. Stay perfectly still."

Eloise obeys, terrified by the woman's clipped, almost angry tone, like she's annoyed at Eloise just for existing. Mr Bridgers was almost the same.

Will her new owner be like this? Will they be kind, or will they be harsh and sharp and horrible? Some people have animal pets they treat well, after all, but control over people... She swallows. Those who crave control over others tend to not be so nice.

She's starting to regret it. She forces the feeling down though, forces down the utter terror at what she imagines she might go through. She can't afford to feel that. If she didn't really have a choice earlier she certainly doesn't have one now.

Or ever again.

[pigeonwhumps]

Diaries of Eloise and Agatha Stanbury and Ira Waterhouse

Taglist: @painful-pooch (also @octopus-reactivated and @maracujatangerine since your actor pet post sparked this idea I'm tagging you too! Even though there isn't much acting whump actually in this, only the characters...)

Recently digitised diary entries of former pets Eloise and Agatha Stanbury, and their guardian Ira Waterhouse. All three were British pet liberation activists in the early to mid 20th century. These entries are from before they set up the Dockside Boarding House, commonly regarded as the first and longest-running safehouse in Britain.

[note from Calixte Văduva, Assistant Archivist to Raphael Fiori, Apprentice Digital Assistant: take out longest-running, you idiot. You want people to know where they live?]

1.7k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, film whump, recovery whump, broken jaw mention, non-con nudity (non-sexual) mention, PTSD, whipping mention, gagged mention, kidnapping mention, beating mention

Diary of Eloise Stanbury, January 1927 - August 1928

Related topics: Eloise Stanbury, Agatha Stanbury, Ira Waterhouse, Pet Liberation History, World Pet History, 1920s Britain, Social History, British Diaries

Transcribed by Calixte Văduva, Assistant Archivist at Rising Sun Bay Archive, Rising Sun Bay, ON

1st of January 1927

Dear Diary,

Agatha is teaching me to rede and rite, and as it is a new year I am of a mind to rite down sum of my thorts. I am asured this is entirely privat. We shall see.

Master's film studio went bankrupt last month. I cannot express how relieved I am. Surely now they will stop serching for us. I hope so. If we ar found we ar ded, I no this. The collaps has, however, stirred up my memories and the titeness in my gut again.

One of my strongest memories of the studio is wen we filmed propaganda during the Great War. It was the only time Agatha and I wer involved in filming for the war effort, but it was time enuf. Agatha and I spent ar time not filming counting the ways the film munishons factory treated pets differently to ar real one. And Agatha sumhow laffed so hard, she disrupted the paid crew and snorted thin gruel out her nose.

Then the camera operator broke her jaw so she culd not disturb them agen. It was okay, cos she did not need to talk and they only needed to film her back anyway, but then Master bete her later for showing him up, until she culd barely work. That part was wors.

My dremes ar confusing, full of fire and drowning even tho I was never in the fire. Ira ses it's cos I am so scared of fire. Agatha ses it's cos I almost drowned. I am not so sure of either. Maybe it is a punishment, for burning down the studio. Maybe I should not hav dun that. I am a free pet but a pet nonetheless, and arson is a crime.

Agatha's braver than me. She makes me braver too. I would never have dared laff before she was rented to Master, let alone run. I'm not sure the defians was always good for her tho. She has many scars, inside and out. I luv her, scars and all, but I don't no how she can be so brave.

There was a servis on Christmas for the local heros of the Great War. Mr Foster was mentioned. That scares me. He scares me, and I do not understand how Agatha is not scared. He was her owner for over a decade, after all.

She scoffed at that, wen I asked. She sed that there's no reason for her to be afrade, and she wuld like to find and thank the soldier who killed Mr Foster. She also sed he's not a hero. I think she should be careful. We didn't see the body. Wat if he comes back?

It's stupid. I no it's stupid. Even if he was still alive he'd hav better things to do than come after Agatha. He'd hav to, right? And I am grateful that he's ded. If he wasn't, I may not hav been abl to stay with Agatha after the Great War ended. It just feels wrong to celebrate so much wen we never saw a body.

Ira's talking about buying a bording hous, away from here. We're so close to the site of the new National Pet Training Centre, and it feels like there ar inspectors around every corner now. Also I do not understand half of wat Ira says about lacking in the gud food and spase, cos this is the best I hav ever eaten and I can live on far less, but I think that is also a reason. I do not no why a bording hous tho. I am scared to move, this is the safest I hav ever felt, but I will hav Agatha and Ira, and I will not go back to being a pet.

My name is Eloise Stanbury, sister, possibly, to Agatha Stanbury, ward of Ira Waterhouse, and I am a free woman.

Eloise Stanbury

_

Diary of Agatha Stanbury, October 1926 - February 1927

Related topics: Agatha Stanbury, Eloise Stanbury, Ira Waterhouse, Pet Liberation History, World Pet History, 1920s Britain, Social History, British Diaries

Transcribed by Calixte Văduva, Assistant Archivist at Rising Sun Bay Archive, Rising Sun Bay, ON

26th of December, 1926

Dear Diary,

Eloise asked me yesterday whether I am still afraid of Mr Foster. I think I managed to convince her that I am not, but we shall see. She has enough on her plate without worrying about me too. She's terrified already, and if she knows I am scared it will make her worse.

I am scared, though. So scared. Mr Foster is dead but I cannot forget everything he did to me. The decade when clothes were an extremely rare occurrence, when I almost forgot my own name. He once claimed that training was half the fun in owning a pet, and it showed. I came to London for the season and was kidnapped to be his pet instead. The scars are never going to leave me.

I cannot sleep alone in the dark anymore. I used to love it, until Mr Foster, but now it's like I cannot get my mind out of his house. Even after being owned by Mr Hayes instead for over ten years I cannot do it. How can it be legal to leave a person in your will, anyway? I confess that the lack of pet owning in my parents' circles has left me rather ignorant in the matter, but it still seems wrong.

Mr Foster was terrifying. He still is. I see him in half the faces on the streets, when I am brave enough to leave the house. Eloise says I'm brave, but I am not so sure. If I was so brave, surely Mr Foster's rules and sadism would not still be so affecting?

Ira does not agree with me. She says it is perfectly reasonable, that soldiers still have shell shock so why shouldn't I be affected by being scarred? I am unsure what to do with that.

I have fought, but it was not a war. Soldiers are not caged naked and gagged with horrible experimental gags, or whipped and beaten by sadists. They are not scarred on film simply because the starring pet is too valuable to be damaged herself.

That sounds like I blame Eloise. I do not. None of this was her fault. I hope, if I had ever become an actor as a person, I would have paid attention to the pets forced to perform, but most likely I wouldn't. I try not to think about that.

Mr Foster still haunts me, awake and asleep. Eloise does not know. She cannot know. She has enough nightmares of her own, and I do not want to wake her up from mine. I am so, so glad Mr Foster is dead, and I think (I hope) that Eloise thinks that is all I am. I told her the truth, just not the whole truth. I really would like to thank the soldier who killed Mr Foster. But I also wish I was not constantly so scared.

With love

Agatha Stanbury

_

Diary of Ira Waterhouse, December 1926 - October 1927

Related topics: Ira Waterhouse, Agatha Stanbury, Eloise Stanbury, Pet Liberation History, World Pet History, 1920s Britain, Social History, British Diaries

Transcribed by Calixte Văduva, Assistant Archivist at Rising Sun Bay Archive, Rising Sun Bay, ON

Wednesday, December 8th, 1926

Not content with having a London office, the WRU are now building a large training centre nearby. It's too close. Far too close. The numbers of inspectors and recapture officers are increasing daily it seems like now work has started, and my girls haven't left the house for days. Even when they do, they come back spooked, especially Eloise. If she was a cat, her hair would stand on end constantly.

The supporters of this new 'pet' class claim that it's entirely voluntary. Maybe for some it is. Maybe they really believe that. But if you're signing a lifetime contract, and being given a drug that's supposed to induce amnesia, making you more compliant and reliant on your owners, I'm not sure that it counts.

It is not always voluntary, anyway. A few weeks ago, Agatha told me her story of being kidnapped into it. How she tried to show an inspector her lack of a seller's mark and number, and he had her tattooed for a bribe. There must be others like her. As bad as the pet trade is, it feels even worse without even the pretence of volunteering.

We need to move. We are so close to the training centre, and one day our house is sure to be inspected. The girls will certainly be taken and killed, with no regard to even Agatha's kidnapping (I have my suspicions about her upbringing but I cannot find any living relatives in the society pages). And I won't come out of it well either.

I have been thinking of starting a boarding house. There must be others like my girls in need of a kind hand and an escape from the wretched pet system. I had to stop giving Agatha cleaning chores because she'd tremble in fear until I declared the house spotless, and Eloise sometimes stays in one spot for hours, forgetting that she is allowed and able to move. Even, maybe especially, if she's uncomfortable. They are both scarred, inside and out, and I'm sure there are others who could use a safe place to stay, at the very least.

I haven't brought my idea up to either of the girls yet, although I feel certain that neither would object to it. They're both kind people, although Eloise wouldn't like me calling her that. She gets prickly when anyone except Agatha says nice things about her.

If Eloise was an animal, she would definitely be a cat.

Ira Waterhouse

[pigeonwhumps]

Pets of the Silver Screen

In the silent film era and the early days of the WRU, young pet number 95, real name Eloise, is bought by film producer Hayes Fletcher to star in his productions. A few years later, he hires Agatha from Foster Montgomery to be her stunt double (read: to scar in scenes where it's necessary, because Eloise is too valuable), and the two young woman strike up a somewhat unwilling friendship.

Over a decade of working on- and off-screen later, it's the roaring twenties, pet liberation is starting to grow, and they're more than ready to leave. Enter Ira Waterhouse – a woman who's had just about enough of the pet industry and is willing to take in two runaways. But WRU is expanding, and running a newly-acquired safehouse in London's docklands isn't a piece of cake. Especially when the two former pets Ira's running it with are a) famous, b) wanted for burning down a film studio, and c) even more traumatised than she originally assumed...

Contains: BBU, pet whump, lady whump, multiple whumpees, historical whump

Character intros

Eloise, Agatha and Ira

Works

Signing up (Eloise)

Rules (Agatha, Eloise, Ira)

Diaries of Eloise and Agatha Stanbury and Ira Waterhouse (Eloise, Agatha, Ira)

Taglist: @painful-pooch @maracujatangerine @clairelsonao3 @whumplr-reader