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fandomweekly2020-08-17 02:20 am
fleuretteffoulkes) wrote in fandomweekly2020-08-17 02:20 am
Entry tags:
[#062] From Cheap Beer to Green Silk (Scarlet Pimpernel)
Theme Prompt: #062 - Transformation
Title: From Cheap Beer to Green Silk
Fandom: The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
Rating/Warnings: G / None
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 894
Summary: In the middle of the English Channel, a transformation takes place.
Sir Percy Blakeney's yacht, the Day Dream, is waiting at anchor in the English Channel, as near to the coast of France as it can get without attracting inimical attention. It's an expensive yacht, its cabins decorated with priceless artwork, its galleys laden with rich dainties and wines, and its crew-cabins possessing a full complement of well-paid and eminently trustworthy staff. But the person they're waiting for doesn't look like he belongs in these rich surroundings at all. He rarely does, at this point in the journey. Sometimes it's a decrepit coal-heaver that they're waiting for, and sometimes a ragged farmer. The man they're waiting for this morning is equally down-at-heel, with no known occupation. He has spent the past week loafing in taverns near Paris's West Barricade, preaching revolution and drinking their cheapest beer.
For a man who spoke as stirringly of revolution as he had, however, he certainly shows no signs of approval now. In fact, he brings with him half a dozen escapees from the nearby prison, every one of them someone who had been condemned to the guillotine by that very same revolution he had spoken of just yestere'en at the Rocher d'Or. Citizen Millefour had said it had been the best speech he'd ever heard. And so, when the speechifier had driven a cart through Citizen Millefour's gate earlier this morning, Millefour had insisted that it would be an insult to search the cart of the finest patriot in all of Paris.
And so the cart had not been searched, and its six occupants went unnoticed, and now they are all here: four ci-devant nobility in rags, their two servants who had been accused of treason alongside them—and the Scarlet Pimpernel himself, reeking of cheap Parisian beer.
The crew of the Day Dream know all too well how to handle these situations. They escort their six guests to the cabins closest to the prow, while the Scarlet Pimpernel makes his way to his cabin at the prow, where a warm bath has already been drawn and a fire laid in the stove.
Captain Briggs walks alongside him, delivering reports and receiving what few orders remain to be made. As they reach the cabin, Briggs bows and closes the door, departing to order full sail immediately. With any luck, they ought to be in England in time for the Hastings' ball on the morrow.
Left all alone, Sir Percy Blakeney wastes no time stripping off his reeking clothes and submersing himself in the lightly perfumed water. As much as he would like to soak in it for hours, soothing muscles that ached from hours in a heavy-laden cart with no springs or cushions, he knows it will not stay warm for long. With deft fingers, he works soap through his hair, where spilt beer and the dust of the road have combined to make a hideous mess. If he had waited until he arrived home, he could have had his manservant assist him in bathing, but he is well used to fending for himself, and sees no reason to stew in his filth for any longer than he must.
Once he has scrubbed all over, he feels much better. He climbs from the tub and towels himself dry before the stove. He can hear the timbers of the ship creaking; they must be well under way by now. Briggs knows to encourage their guests to remain in their cabins for the first part of the journey, so he ought to be fine to go on deck as soon as he wishes.
But first, there are a few details of toilette to be considered. Fresh linen is waiting on a chair next to the tub, and Percy clothes himself in it with alacrity. As much as he does not regret the days spent in squalor—six lives snatched from the guillotine make that a price easy to pay—he is still terribly glad to be clean once again. He searches through the nearby wardrobe and decides upon green silk breeches and matching coat, both richly embroidered with gold thread.
With silk caressing his skin and finest Mechelin lace draping over his wrists, he feels almost himself again. Stepping at last to the looking-glass, he ties his cravat in one of the most complicated knots he knows. Perhaps it is to get his fingers back in practice before he dresses for the ball tomorrow, or perhaps it is only for his own amusement after so long without any cravat at all: even he himself could not say for certain.
It doesn't take them long to cross the Channel: the wind is on their side, and the sun has not yet set when they drop anchor in Dover. It is Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet—rich, carefree, and a bit of an idiot—who steps off of the Day Dream in green and gold, perfectly cravatted. If it so happens that a half dozen people who claim to have been rescued by the Scarlet Pimpernel arrive in Dover at that same time: what a coincidence! It certainly has nothing to do with him.
No, Sir Percy Blakeney has no worries about France, or the Paris barricades, or anything except whether his impulse trip in his yacht to shop for French lace has left him with little time to prepare properly for tomorrow's ball.
Title: From Cheap Beer to Green Silk
Fandom: The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
Rating/Warnings: G / None
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 894
Summary: In the middle of the English Channel, a transformation takes place.
Sir Percy Blakeney's yacht, the Day Dream, is waiting at anchor in the English Channel, as near to the coast of France as it can get without attracting inimical attention. It's an expensive yacht, its cabins decorated with priceless artwork, its galleys laden with rich dainties and wines, and its crew-cabins possessing a full complement of well-paid and eminently trustworthy staff. But the person they're waiting for doesn't look like he belongs in these rich surroundings at all. He rarely does, at this point in the journey. Sometimes it's a decrepit coal-heaver that they're waiting for, and sometimes a ragged farmer. The man they're waiting for this morning is equally down-at-heel, with no known occupation. He has spent the past week loafing in taverns near Paris's West Barricade, preaching revolution and drinking their cheapest beer.
For a man who spoke as stirringly of revolution as he had, however, he certainly shows no signs of approval now. In fact, he brings with him half a dozen escapees from the nearby prison, every one of them someone who had been condemned to the guillotine by that very same revolution he had spoken of just yestere'en at the Rocher d'Or. Citizen Millefour had said it had been the best speech he'd ever heard. And so, when the speechifier had driven a cart through Citizen Millefour's gate earlier this morning, Millefour had insisted that it would be an insult to search the cart of the finest patriot in all of Paris.
And so the cart had not been searched, and its six occupants went unnoticed, and now they are all here: four ci-devant nobility in rags, their two servants who had been accused of treason alongside them—and the Scarlet Pimpernel himself, reeking of cheap Parisian beer.
The crew of the Day Dream know all too well how to handle these situations. They escort their six guests to the cabins closest to the prow, while the Scarlet Pimpernel makes his way to his cabin at the prow, where a warm bath has already been drawn and a fire laid in the stove.
Captain Briggs walks alongside him, delivering reports and receiving what few orders remain to be made. As they reach the cabin, Briggs bows and closes the door, departing to order full sail immediately. With any luck, they ought to be in England in time for the Hastings' ball on the morrow.
Left all alone, Sir Percy Blakeney wastes no time stripping off his reeking clothes and submersing himself in the lightly perfumed water. As much as he would like to soak in it for hours, soothing muscles that ached from hours in a heavy-laden cart with no springs or cushions, he knows it will not stay warm for long. With deft fingers, he works soap through his hair, where spilt beer and the dust of the road have combined to make a hideous mess. If he had waited until he arrived home, he could have had his manservant assist him in bathing, but he is well used to fending for himself, and sees no reason to stew in his filth for any longer than he must.
Once he has scrubbed all over, he feels much better. He climbs from the tub and towels himself dry before the stove. He can hear the timbers of the ship creaking; they must be well under way by now. Briggs knows to encourage their guests to remain in their cabins for the first part of the journey, so he ought to be fine to go on deck as soon as he wishes.
But first, there are a few details of toilette to be considered. Fresh linen is waiting on a chair next to the tub, and Percy clothes himself in it with alacrity. As much as he does not regret the days spent in squalor—six lives snatched from the guillotine make that a price easy to pay—he is still terribly glad to be clean once again. He searches through the nearby wardrobe and decides upon green silk breeches and matching coat, both richly embroidered with gold thread.
With silk caressing his skin and finest Mechelin lace draping over his wrists, he feels almost himself again. Stepping at last to the looking-glass, he ties his cravat in one of the most complicated knots he knows. Perhaps it is to get his fingers back in practice before he dresses for the ball tomorrow, or perhaps it is only for his own amusement after so long without any cravat at all: even he himself could not say for certain.
It doesn't take them long to cross the Channel: the wind is on their side, and the sun has not yet set when they drop anchor in Dover. It is Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet—rich, carefree, and a bit of an idiot—who steps off of the Day Dream in green and gold, perfectly cravatted. If it so happens that a half dozen people who claim to have been rescued by the Scarlet Pimpernel arrive in Dover at that same time: what a coincidence! It certainly has nothing to do with him.
No, Sir Percy Blakeney has no worries about France, or the Paris barricades, or anything except whether his impulse trip in his yacht to shop for French lace has left him with little time to prepare properly for tomorrow's ball.
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