#jamie and hal

[little-orphan-ant]

did you reblog the "!!" post?? either way. bites you. tell me about your ocs /lh

technically not this time BUT i have in the past so

hm. who to choose.

god for someone who constantly talks abt my ocs to random people on the street i have Very Few. uh

okay. we're talking abt AUGUST HARVEY ALEXANDER WILEY who is the little brother of Hal who i talked abt here mostly bc i need to flesh out his character more akljkfks

k so!!

August, mostly known as Auggie, Augs, or Young (bc hes the youngest in his family) is the second son and fifth child of Henry Peter Alexander Wiley III, a wealthy New York lawyer, and his wife, Harriet

he was born April 12, 1860, the same day the American Civil War was declared

literally No One was expecting Augs, as it's been a good 18 years since his mother's last surviving child, and all his siblings are A Lot older than him -

he has three sisters, Hannah, Caroline, and Olive, who are 25, 24, and 21, respectively, and of them, Hannah and Caroline are both married with a young child and Olive is courting someone and basically engaged

his elder brother (and their father's heir), Hal (full name Henry Peter Alexander Wiley IV) is 18, and hes um. his life is Not going v well bc he just got engaged to some girl he barely knew and then his boyfriend Jamie went and fucking enlisted in the American Civil War and he has chronic fatigue syndrome which is acting up and yeah his life is kinda shitty.

Hal wants to hate Auggie, bc now his father has a backup heir, aka if Henry III finds out his son's bi, he can disown him and still have a son take over

but. then Hal sees his little brother and he's like fuck. f u c k. this tiny child is too cute and i love him.

Augs is a Very Vocal Baby, he's always wailing and giggling and speaking gibberish and its so fucking adorable.

then some stuff happens, and in mid 1862 Hal has to ""go off to school"" (eg Jamie got hurt in the Battle of Antietam and Hal bought him a house and shit to recover bc hes Rich and Gay)

Hal spends the next few years mostly alone, except for nurses and governesses. his father is usually off at work, and his mother doesnt really pay attention to him him - she lost several kids after having Hal and doesn't want to risk getting attached to another in case he dies too :(

then it's 1867. the war's been over for two years. Augs is 7, and hasn't seen Hal in 2 years. he barely remembers him, except for every month or so when he gets the occasional letter - signed both by his brother and a mysterious 'J' (but in Hal's handwriting bc Jamie's sucks djfhslajkh)

but one day in winter, his parents are attending a supper and on the way back the roads get so snowy that their carriage swerves off the street and into the Hudson, killing them and the driver instantly :(

Augs's sister Hannah originally takes him in but she already has 3 kids and Auggie is too much for her to manage (don't blame him he is a hyperactive young boy and doesn't understand social cues jdkjkfdas)

so!! Hal (now in posession of a sizable fortune) comes up from Maryland and takes him in!!

and they also confront Jamie's homophobic/abusive/just all around not very cool father and end up getting custody of his little siblings!! (plus by this point J's brother Abe is already living w them bc he ran off to be a drummer boy and Hal found him)

and they live happily ever after!!

at least until Auggie is killed by a falling tree branch at 17 :D

tysm gracie this was So Fun sjkfdl love my little boy <3

here he is at ~8 wearing his brother's clothes (Hal's so short they're barely too big akjfdsajks)

[jaynovz]

[id: two images side by side. The first is a photo of an air plant in a walrus planter held up by a hand, with various other plants in the background. The second is a multimedia digital portrait of Hal Gates from Black Sails dressed in 1970s Flower Power style clothing. He is depicted with luscious golden locks spilling over a yellow-pink-orange flower power patterned headband. He's also wearing a multicolor flower power patterned vee neck shirt, and a bright yellow flower necklace. The shirt pattern, headband pattern, and necklace are all semi-transparent stock images melded with the digital illustration. The background is a semi-transparent stock image of lush monstera leaves. /end id] --

Soooo @somfte got a brand new Specimen and well. I mean, you see what happened. I got inspired and I had to draw Him. ✨✨✨

[esqueletosgays]

THE FOG (1981)

Director: John Carpenter Cinematography: Dean Cundey

[duranduratulsa]

Up next on my 80's Fest Movie 🎬 🎞 🎥 marathon...The Fog (1980) on glorious vintage VHS 📼! #Movie #movies #horror #thefog #johncarpenter #tomatkins #jamieleecurtis #adriennebarbeau #HalHolbrook #riphalholbrook #janetleigh #ripjanetleigh #NANCYKYES #NancyLoomis #debrahill #ripdebrahill #TommyLeeWallace #robbottin #BuckFlower #JohnHouseman #CharlesCyphers #tymitchell #vintage #VHS #80s #80sfest #durandurantulsas6thannual80sfest

[agaypanic]

If the kid after Jamie were girl, the boys would be fantastic older brothers to a sister.

at first they have to idea how to be around her bc they’ve never had a sister before. all they know how to do is fight each other, but they don’t wanna do that with her. she’s too small and precious

they become really protective over her. it gets to the point where it’s hard to do much as make friends with guys bc not only does she have a first time girl dad who would do anything for her, but she also has 5 older brother who can clear up their schedule in a second to fight someone who they think isn’t good enough for her

[brokehorrorfan]

Gutter Garbs has released a The Fog shirt designed by Sam Coyne. Priced at $30, it will ship the week of October 4.

[mywingsareonwheels]

OKAY grammatical feelings about Falstaff&Hal and Thursday&Morse

“I know thee not, old man.”

As any gnarled, middle-aged one-time English literature graduate knows, “thee/thou/thy/thine” is the now lost English equivalent of “tu/toi” etc. in French, and other informal+singular second person pronouns in any number of languages. In English we now use “you” for everyone, which was originally the formal and/or plural one.

It’s quite a recent loss, actually. As in, its continuing use in parts of rural Yorkshire etc. was still a thing in living memory. If you’ve ever watched The Last of the Summer Wine you may note that Compo uses “thee/thou” at times. But I digress.

[oh this got a bit long. ;-) Cut for length and spoilers for series 9 of Endeavour. Also content-warning for a bit of fatphobia in a quotation from Henry IV part 2.]

One of the things I find fascinating when reading Shakespeare and his contemporaries is when characters switch between “you” and “thou”. Sometimes it’s desperately moving - that moment when Benedick first uses “thou” for Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing is... fuck. Done right it’s an absolutely fizzing moment even now. That sudden intimacy.

I’m currently making a much more concerted effort to revive my French at the moment, and there was a moment in an episode of Dix Pour Cent I was watching earlier where a character suddenly switched from saying “vous” to “tu” to another character, and I went back to rewatch it with the French subtitles because I was sure I’d heard it, and I had. The English subtitles added a “darling” to give that moment its full impact. It was huge.

So to the Henry IV plays. Hal’s been using “thou” for Falstaff much of the two plays, and vice versa. Strictly speaking as Hal is the heir to the throne and Falstaff is just a knight (and a pretty rubbish one at that) Hal has the right to “thou” him in a higher-status-to-lower kind of a way anyway, but that’s not how he uses it, and Falstaff “thou”ing him, and Hal letting him? It shows the closeness of their friendship and quasi father-and-son relationship, however fraught it frequently is. It’s also worth noting that some of Falstaff’s friends also have been known to use “thou” for Hal (including Pistol).

But we’ve also known since early in Henry IV part 1 and *boy* do we continue to get hints, that once Hal is crowned, he’s going to chuck Falstaff and the others for good.

So here’s the newly-crowned King Henry V (formerly Hal, now King in this text which I just nabbed from the Folger library website) being greeted by Falstaff and Pistol. [NB: This is the bit with the fatphobia I warned for above]

* * * * * * * * *

[Enter the King and his train.] FALSTAFF: God save thy Grace, King Hal, my royal Hal. PISTOL: The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame! FALSTAFF: God save thee, my sweet boy! KING: My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man. CHIEF JUSTICE, to Falstaff: Have you your wits? Know you what ’tis you speak? FALSTAFF, to the King: My king, my Jove, I speak to thee, my heart! KING: I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers. How ill white hairs becomes a fool and jester. I have long dreamt of such a kind of man, So surfeit-swelled, so old, and so profane; But being awaked, I do despise my dream.

* * * * * * * *

And he continues in that vein for about another twenty lines, during which Falstaff’s heart completely breaks.

It’s usual for Hal/the King to not exactly be on happy form himself. Alex Hassell, in the RSC version with Antony Sher as Falstaff, pretty much delivers those lines as one enormous panic attack. He’s even more immediately devastated than Sher’s Falstaff, who seems to be fending off his misery with denial. Jamie Parker’s Hal in the Globe production with Roger Allam as Falstaff is slightly less broken but not much less; Allam’s Falstaff just fricking falls apart before our eyes.

(Darn actor allusions in Endeavour. [sniffs])

Anyway. This brings me to Morse.

Thursday isn’t Falstaff. Yes, he’s arguably a father figure for Morse, and loves him. And in this moment Morse is at least considering rejecting him once and for all, with good reason. But Falstaff’s a consistently terrible person (not for any of the reasons Hal gives in that desperately painful speech, I more mean things like cheerfully accepting bribes leading to the deaths in battle of impoverished men he was meant to be leading and barely being sorry about it); Thursday is a mostly good but flawed and traumatised person who has made a series of massive fuck-ups under extreme pressure. Rather different.

And Morse and Hal use that phrase “I know thee not old man” so differently. Hal can’t know Falstaff any more and be the king he wants to be. It’s an absolute rejection.

Morse quotes Hal but does so more literally: he doesn’t know Thursday any more. There’s the potential for rejection there, but mostly he’s feeling lost and wants Thursday to help him understand why he did what he did.

Both these pairs part permanently. But with Hal and Falstaff it’s entirely tragic; with Morse and Thursday more bittersweet, as in the end they do part as friends, still clearly loving each other.

But here also is the thing:-

Is Hal saying “I know thee not, old man” just because he has the right in the stupid classist society in which he lives to “thee” an elderly knight in some contempt because he’s the king? Or is he falling back on the habit of using “thee” for him? Or is he expressing an absolute contradiction in terms, deploying the informality of closeness? Of “I don’t know you, friend”.

Morse knows his Shakespeare, and I can’t believe that with his language skills he wouldn’t be aware of what “thee” means. And Morse isn’t Thursday’s boss let alone king, even if they’re no longer inspector and bagman.

So when Morse says “I know thee not, old man”... it’s absolutely that contradiction. Denying and acknowledging understanding and closeness in the same breath. It’s very Morse. It’s very them. Ow.

Oh. Here’s another thought:-

Within the timescale of Shakespeare’s history plays (which are rather more conflated than actual history), Falstaff’s dead within a year, specifically of the broken heart that Hal gives him in the scene I quote above. It’s reported early on in the play Henry V. You know, the one which Falstaff isn’t in, that follows Hal’s later career...

If Morse and Thursday hadn’t made up to the extent that they do... would the same thing have happened to Thursday? Would Morse have accidentally cursed him, really making him his Falstaff? :-/ I mean, if Thursday had been arrested then obviously he would have died soon after one way or another, I think that’s plain for various reasons. But I mean, if Morse had still protected Thursday but they had parted in the heat of the pain and bitterness Morse betrays in that line, without the softening and love that’s apparent in their final scene together? We’re talking about a show that does stray into fantasy at times, after all.

[erstwhile-punk-guerito]

[yourubersawcrit]

You're so silly and I'm glad we're freinds :}

Yes, I am silly! And I love being friends with you. Have a very silly goofy video, dear Anon :))

[thedukeofdormont]

October 1 - Movie Night - The Fog

[cookie-de-baunilha]

ok so considering there weren’t casting announcements for hal, dottie and percy in s7 (as far as i know), there’s still a chance of them being included in season 8 right? RIGHT? 😭

don’t know how much of the story they will be able to cover tho, since it’s going to be the last season and a 10 episodes one i think… but i want to see them??

they don’t have plans for a lord john spin-off series… i mean, DG already said that Sony producers are not interested right now and a spin-off series of jamie’s parents is apparently confirmed? so yeah, introducing dottie and percy and reintroducing hal would make sense if they wanted to do a lord john spin-off (if not for the sake of s8 plot itself), but they don’t want to.

either way all of them are important in the developments of books 7-9, and dottie is denzell’s romantic interest, sooo

[little-orphan-ant]

🥊 >:)

🥊: A plot bunny so sad, obvious, or adorable, you’re almost a little mad you came up with it.

uh besides this whole fucking book then just. Hal and Auggie. i Love them and their interactions and i want to just eat them up /aff

it's auggie who kinda makes Hal's life worth living after he thinks J's abandoned him and kjshdfkjjfkjfd theyre just. adorable. little humans.

on the other side of the spectrum!! (the Sad side):

(no i absolutely did Not come up with this right this minute shut up (*came up with this right this minute*))

drew being homophobic (i almost wrote homiephobic aklfdjsjsd)

drew is jamie's older brother and he dies when j is in his late teens (dont want to actually check my timeline so) but not before j comes out to him and. god it makes me Sad. fuck drew i decided.

[schlock-luster-video]

On June 1, 1980, The Fog debuted in Spain.

[filmjunky-99]

t h e f o g, 1980 🎬 dir. john carpenter

[mrsvalbaker]

The Poet's Rusalka

Synopsis: Marina Czerwonka is a young Romani woman from a little village in Poland, after her mother dies her path changes drastically , dreams of ink stained fingers and green eyes, friends with beguiling strangers and an altercation that cements her course at a London tavern. She meets a rogueish lord and eventually wins the heart of not only the rake but a British monarch.

This is a Hal story, some things have been changed and its nothing like The King. This takes place during the restoration era of England in the 17th century, instead of Charles II being king its Hal, but he's Henry X not the V. Historical characters like the rebel poet John Wilmot, Nell Gwynn, and etc. Play huge parts in this story and I don't own them.

Big disclaimer, this is a very mature story and could be offensive.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Chapter I: A Fish out of Water

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Most Men are Cowards, all Men should be Knaves.

The Difference lies, as far as I can see,

Not in the thing it self, but the Degree.

-John Wilmot

🥀

It's been one year since I left Karpacz, one year since I buried my mother, and one year since my life changed forever.

I arrived in England only knowing Polish and Russian. I hardly had anything with me, and I took what I could of what was important. 

Traveling in November through Eastern Europe to western is no easy feat.

I traveled through horses and carriages, it wasn't easy dodging shifty characters, but I've managed.  My shawl and jewelry easily allowed everyone to know I am Romani, naturally I've been treated like a common whore, a thief, or both. A witch too, constantly but that's been my whole life.

When I made it to Paris, I was lucky enough to run into fellow Romani, Django Delort. He was handsome, tall and lanky and dark with laughing brown eyes, a thin mustache, and long, satin auburn curls he always had tied back with a purple ribbon. I stayed with him and his sister, Penelope, and her kindly husband Antoine. They were newly weds and pregnant with their first child.  The family is very kind and didn't mind sharing their caravan with me and their food, so I made sure to be plenty of help. They taught me French, luckily Django and Penelope are fluent in Russian due to a maternal lineage.

Django was always full of laughter and jokes. He's an actor for the stage and inspired my interest in the theater, seeing such emotion and becoming somebody else was inspiring.

He wanted to marry me though, despite the constant attention he gains from the female population of Paris, and I couldn't have that. One, Django falls in love at least once a week, and I do not love him, and I won't marry for less.

"I don't want you to feel used, Django, you're my dearest friend in the world, a difficult feat in this world. Our bond is strong but unromantic, I am undeserving of your affections." I spoke to him in French as he helped me board the boat to London.

He stroked my cheek with such benign affection, his reddish brown ringlets blowing ardently in the May winds of Northern France. I gazed upon his cognac colored eyes that usually held so much joy and laughter, but now bathed in longing and despair. And I was the cause of that.

"You are more deserving than any prisoner of this realm, mon cherie, I am not good enough for you and that is why Cupid decided not to relinquish your heart to me. I understand this now, although it leaves me bitter. Do you have to leave for dreary old England? With people colder than your Polish winters?" He returned, in his native tongue.

I blinked away tears saltier than the sea, and stroked my friend's Motley colored scarf. "I know it's silly, but I've been dreaming visions of it. As a fellow Romani, you'd understand that can't you?"

"Ah yes, your dreams of long ink stained fingers and hooded green eyes in the shadows…our mother's would rise from the grave if we ignored such dreams." He brushed his fingers through my loose hair. 

"Mon ami, this isn't forever this isn't goodbye, I love Paris. I will return to Paris, I will return to you and Penelope, and Antoine, and their child and children yet to come. "

He shoved me away but it was gentle and he took a large intake of breath, as if he found even something as natural as breathing unbearably difficult to pursue. "I want this to be as undemanding as possible, ma belle. Just go before I demand more than you can give." His voice was heavy with tears and I nodded mutely before boarding.

He didn't leave once I was on, but he didn't look my way either. He just gave me his back to gaze upon as I sailed off and away to the unknown, saying goodbye to the only friend I've ever known.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Current Day, The Three Crowns, London, 1674

Jane was the first to be kind to me.

She found me struggling to speak English.  I had only known hello and thank you, she could tell I was in search of a position. Although she knew not Polish, Russian, or French, she had pulled me by my arm to a slender, beautiful young man who was sitting on the lap of an intoxicated and pawing excuse of a man. She said something in English and he immediately spoke French to me. A heavy weight was lifted off of my chest, and the fair young man had introduced himself as Jem. We spoke in French and he had explained to me his father was an English navy man who knocked up a French lady of the night, his mother. He had informed me that she died of syphilis when he was only ten. I offered most empathetic condolences, and both of us bonded over the loss of our mother and growing up in the world as bastards.

Growing up as Roma, you learn that you do not have the privilege to judge others, I didn't turn my nose up at prostitutes, it's not always easy finding work. Jem and Jane had spoken to the owner of The Three Crowns on my behalf, and Thom Pugh the owner took one look at me, desperate to make me one of his working girls. Jem had told me my exotic gypsy features and amethyst eyes made the man eager to make a bit of coin off of me. But Jem had assured me Jane persuaded Mr. Pugh to take me on as just a serving wench as well as a laundress for his rooms. I was safe due to the generosity of my newfound friends…for now.

Jem was teaching me English and he and Jane loved when I would read their palms and show them how to tell people's fortunes. It was all about trusting instinct and getting to know the person. I read people well, which is why I know Mr. Pugh isn't a man of his word and I made sure to stay out of sight as often as I could.

It was hard keeping the customers hands and eagerness away but I managed, I wasn't going to be a shaking little doe, like animals, people smell fear.

I helped Jem and Jane how to keep up with their hygiene as well, with that you could really see how beautiful the two are. Jane stands at a petite stature with curves of a noble lady, wide hips and a full bust she always has falling out of her bodice. Her coloring is pretty in a wild exotic way, sun-kissed like my people. Her eyes remind me of a sly cat, and they're a pretty blue-green, her full lips are always painted with Rouge like her cheeks and her jawline is squared off like a member of the gentry, whoever Jane's real parents were, they did her terribly wrong leaving her in the gutter. Her hair is like dark gold and bounces down her back in coils, she's the most sought after girl here for a reason, and not just on beauty alone. She's never in a foul mood, always laughing and bringing sunlight in wherever she goes, jesting and pulling pranks along with Jem. When I felt homesick and longed for my mother who now lived buried deep in the Earth and my father who was a slave to the seas, she made me forget with her warmth and her smiles.

Jem too is so very beautiful for this Saxon underworld, tall and lean like an interpretation of David. Porcelain like the statue too, with freckles beaming like stars across his upturned nose, eyes so blue you swore he was part sea-folk, lips so full and red and pretty for a man, and his hair fell in youthful and boyish raven waves. He has the most enchanting smile, and tempted those who thought their desires relied solely on the softer sex.

He always made sure I ate, and asked me everyday if anyone bothered me, the answer was always no.

In half a year I was speaking English comfortably, although my accent didn't hide that I'm a foreigner and had people assuming that I'm empty-headed, but I minded not.

"Jem, you speak English so well, proper. Better than everyone else here, why is that?"

He was drawing black kohl around his eyes, he reminded me of my people when he did that. I smiled and took the kohl from him to help. "Oh you mean why don't I sound like a common whore?" He asked with humor in his voice. 

"I would never say it like that."

"No of course not, you're too sweet. The only one in this rotten little world God has dealt us with to not look upon my kind with revulsion." He handed me the rouge so I could paint his lips and high cheeks.

"We Romani are treated like mud beneath the wheels of a carriage, and my father is a pirate, I am not wealthy enough to judge."

He smiled. "There's a kindly gentleman, I'm to his liking. He brings me poems and oranges and lessons. I can read now too.''

There was something akin to love in his powder blue eyes, my friend is in love. I opened my mouth to speak on it but Jane burst in, in just a yellow corset with half her laces undone, a hiked up green skirt, exposing her red hosiery. "Jem, we've got someone for yeh." She smiled "oh look at that, pretty as a lady yeh are. Marina yeh so good at making us look more than we're worth somethin'." She took Jem's hand, dragging him out.

I cleaned up behind Jem and washed my hands in the wash bowl, humming an old song my mother would sing to me as a child. 

The door creaked open, it was probably one of the girls asking for something. I have a basket full of nicely folded laundry.

"I'll be right there." I called as I bent over to pick up the basket.  But forceful hands prevented me from doing so.

My heart clenched, my blood froze. I couldn't even breathe, foul breath perfumed my senses. I felt dizzy with illness.  Something hard pressed into my backside. "Not a sound you Slavic whore!" 

He started ripping at my bodice with a knife and I swallowed back tears, oh God this  was really happening. There was nothing I could do about it and no one would care. I attempted still, to wriggle myself free as he pushed up my skirt and he slapped me in the face so hard I tasted blood as he tugged on my hair. "Oi! Stop that–Aye!"

His assault had come to stop when he was torn away from me, I gathered myself trying to hold together my torn bodice and sleeve and my hair that was now loose at my hips.

"My-my lord-"

At that I sharply turned around to face my rescuer. Jane stood beside a tall, slender nobleman. I noticed his handsome beauty as he had an opulent cane raised above my assailant who was now cowering on the floor. With his rags it made my rescuer look all the more every bit of title and income I am positive he has. His jawline is sharper than a knife, his chin and nose proud and his pretty, far set, gray eyes even wore a nasty haughty lidding. But there was disgust that colored his eyes. He wore a long, curly brown wig with the hats of style upon his head, adorn with ostrich feathers. "Are you so pathetic and hideous as well as oafish, so utterly incapable of being loved and I dare say–tolerated, that you feel like your only choice is to force yourself upon this tiny creature?" He laughed and didn't allow my attacker to speak, he waved his cane in the air and hit the drunkard in the nose. There was a sickening Crack and crimson poured like paint from his nose. "I assume you're from a beginning akin to fenced pigs, I assume it is common practice to take someone from behind and force miserable tiny cocks like yours there into any hole. Even if it's a hole in the fence, I daresay you don't care if it splinters your smelly foreskin as long as it's a hole any hole will do, I imagine that's how you got here. Your mother methinks was just any hole, a sweaty unappealing sow being forced into the mud by pungent boars. How many were there during your conception?" The lord sneered. 

My mouth fell open in shock, my insides tickled in amusement, and I took dark delight in how thorough and detailed he insulted this man. Jane was having the time of her life laughing at the lord's cruel and entertaining words.

The lesser man had the audacity to look insulted and opened his mouth to answer, but the cruel and handsome lord didn't allow it. He took his cane and bashed the head into the rotten teeth of the pub crawler. His mouth overflowed with blood. The lord looked positively perturbed at the gory stain on his cane and with an irritated sigh, took out a pale green handkerchief to wipe it off. "I should cut your little porky cock off right now, it's far too small to be rendered useful. And even if your size was comparable to an adequate blade of pleasure and breeding, it'd still be without purpose for you haven't the slightest inkling how to use it." He grinned cruelly as his richly heel pressed down on the rapist's groin. The man wailed so boisterous in bloodcurdling pain that all who were present at the tavern had gathered around to watch the scene displayed. 

It was perverse how people gawked and took great pleasure in watching violence. "It's quite pathetic with how incredibly old you are that you still can't use this little cheese knife correctly. If your ignorant inbred brain understood the meaning of consent, that'd  be a start." He removed his plum velvet heel from the abused crotch.

It was finally the moment when my eyes met the stormy gray pair of my hero. Although taking in his slightly intoxicated eyes, his cruel tongue and where he was, I wondered if hero was the right word.

Mr. Pugh was outraged but at me, yelling at me about causing such trouble. He was ranting about how the only way to possibly recover from causing his establishment such reputation, which caused me to snort since its glorified brothel with a menu. The only way I could make up for it was to become a working girl. I opened my mouth to defend myself but my dark antihero had taken up for me once again. 

"Mr. Pugh, you're so adamant about this woman using her beauty for a bit of coin one might easily imply that you yourself had arranged this…well whatever this was." The lord smirked but it lacked humor.

I had such delicious joy watching my employer fumble with his words as if English wasn't his first language. But I felt sick knowing the attempted thievery of my virtue was a plot, a means to an end. "Mm, well Miss…" His eyes focused on me, he almost looked curious. 

He was asking me my name, I was flustered as I was in delay in answering.  "Czerwonka, Marina Czerwonka. "

His perfectly arched brow rose. "Czerwonka, is that Polish?"

I nodded attempting to pull my tattered bodice back together.

To my surprise, the dark lord took off his velvet cape to wrap around me. "If you would prefer the employment of the spider who trapped you like a fly in his web, over being under my employment with very little play but a warm bed in the country. Then by all means stay behind." With that he turned to the door and kissed Jane's hand. "Another time Jane. " 

She winked. "A pleasure as always Johnny. "

The lord she was so informal with left the room, I sputtered. "J-Jane, who was that?"

She grinned. "That's right, you're still so new…that was the infamous Lord John Wilmot, the 2nd Earl of Rochester."

I had no idea what these English titles meant. "What is he infamous for?"

She grinned and bumped my hip with hers. "The worst things."

"Could you help me pack  before his carriage leaves?"

"Thatta girl." Jane guided me to my room, and I couldn't stop thinking about Lord Rochesters ink stained fingers…

@sufferingstarlight @meetmyothersouls

[grittystitties]

Jamie out we’re fucked I’m roasting pingwings over an open fire