A walk is not simply a walk
Dec. 22nd, 2007 05:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tom_lefroy"A walk."
Right.
As he makes his way out into the open country, as directed by his uncle, he finds that the marshes, the greenery, and the so-called beauty of the area is severely overrated. How can any of this possibly be beautiful? It is all the same. It is much too wet. And there is no sign of a beginning, nor an end. Men could get lost within these bloody trees, and never find their way out again.
With his walking stick of no use to him, he trudges through the wet marshes, his boots getting sucked into old piles of leaves, blackened from decay until he spots a figure somewhere in parallel to him, walking. So. Walking really is something these people do, then.
"Miss!" he calls. He could use some direction, or perhaps even a simple distraction. "Miss." He tries to get his feet out of the blasted piles of leaves, but finds it a lot more difficult to do than he thought. Still, he cannot lose the only other sign of life in this wood, and she does look rather...familiar. "Miss! - uh, miss." He nearly trips. "Miss?" Perhaps she can help him? "Miss - uh -" Oh, blast. What was her name again?
"Austen."
He hastily stops, removes his hat and bows. "Ah - Mr Lefroy."
She curtseys, looking quite impatient. "Yes. I know...but - I-I am alone."
He scoffs. What prejudice does she have against him? Why, they do not even really know each other. "Except for me."
"Exactly." She continues to walk again.
"Oh, come. What rules of conduct apply in this rural situation? We have been introduced, have we not?" He knows he is testing her. He can see the frustration in the very way she carries herself, walking ahead of him without any regard for his...circumstance.
She turns around and stops. "What value is there in an introduction when you cannot even remember my name?" Beat. "Indeed, you can barely stay awake in my presence."
He looks at her, confused for a brief moment as he bows his head. She returns the gesture with another short curtsey. Perhaps she is not the best of distractions after all. After all, who wants to spend a pleasant walk with a woman obviously angry with him for no reason he can fathom? "Ma'am," he mutters under his breath, turning to walk back in the miserable direction he had come. Best to avoid upsetting a lady from the country. Who knows what sort of thing might happen in the middle of no where?
"These scruples must seem very provincial to a gentleman with such elevated airs -"
He turns around once more.
"- but I do not devise these rules, I am merely obliged to obey them."
She curtseys again then spins on her heel, proceeding towards her original path.
Oh. He is certainly not going to let this go just yet. She has...admittedly intrigued him. "And I have been told there is much to see upon a walk, but all I've detected so far is there to be a tendency to see green above -" He points his cane upwards to the upper parts of the trees, full of foliage and barely anything else "- and brown below." With an odd sort of smirk, he points his cane to the ground this time.
"Yes, well...others have detected more. It is celebrated - there is even a book about Selbourne Wood."
Feigning to sound interested, he remarks a quiet, "Oh." And as she turns back again towards her path, he looks ahead - away from her - and adds, "A novel, perhaps." He knows she will stop. He realizes and remembers just how he knows her; and besides, she is one of those 'aspiring' female writers.
Just as predicted, she turns back. "Novels?" Her tone gives nothing away. "Being poor insipid things read by mere women? Even god forbid, written by mere women."
"I see." He raises his eyebrows, well aware that she likely won't buy his act of innocence. "We are talking of your reading."
"As if the writing of women did not display the greatest powers of the mind, knowledge of human nature, the liveliest diffusions of wit and humour in the best chosen language imaginable!" She has now reached him, each step closer, filled with even more passion. Her voice is stern, venomous with anger, even.
Calmly, "Was I difficient in rapture?"
"In consciousness."
He sighs, shaking his head. "It was..."
She waits, looking just a little smug, as though daring him to speak his mind. Yet, expectant as well.
Thoughtful, he tries again. "It was - accomplished."
She nods, looking disappointed, hurt and angry all at the same time before she wordlessly turns away. He watches her retreating figure, expecting her to provide the last word. She seems like the sort to try to get a last word. She turns around once more, giving him a sarcastic smile. "It was ironic."
...Right.
"And you are sure I've not offended you?" he calls out.
Briefly, she turns. "Not at all!"
He turns back and sighs, glancing about at the sea of trees.
That was...well, interesting to say the least.
Right.
As he makes his way out into the open country, as directed by his uncle, he finds that the marshes, the greenery, and the so-called beauty of the area is severely overrated. How can any of this possibly be beautiful? It is all the same. It is much too wet. And there is no sign of a beginning, nor an end. Men could get lost within these bloody trees, and never find their way out again.
With his walking stick of no use to him, he trudges through the wet marshes, his boots getting sucked into old piles of leaves, blackened from decay until he spots a figure somewhere in parallel to him, walking. So. Walking really is something these people do, then.
"Miss!" he calls. He could use some direction, or perhaps even a simple distraction. "Miss." He tries to get his feet out of the blasted piles of leaves, but finds it a lot more difficult to do than he thought. Still, he cannot lose the only other sign of life in this wood, and she does look rather...familiar. "Miss! - uh, miss." He nearly trips. "Miss?" Perhaps she can help him? "Miss - uh -" Oh, blast. What was her name again?
"Austen."
He hastily stops, removes his hat and bows. "Ah - Mr Lefroy."
She curtseys, looking quite impatient. "Yes. I know...but - I-I am alone."
He scoffs. What prejudice does she have against him? Why, they do not even really know each other. "Except for me."
"Exactly." She continues to walk again.
"Oh, come. What rules of conduct apply in this rural situation? We have been introduced, have we not?" He knows he is testing her. He can see the frustration in the very way she carries herself, walking ahead of him without any regard for his...circumstance.
She turns around and stops. "What value is there in an introduction when you cannot even remember my name?" Beat. "Indeed, you can barely stay awake in my presence."
He looks at her, confused for a brief moment as he bows his head. She returns the gesture with another short curtsey. Perhaps she is not the best of distractions after all. After all, who wants to spend a pleasant walk with a woman obviously angry with him for no reason he can fathom? "Ma'am," he mutters under his breath, turning to walk back in the miserable direction he had come. Best to avoid upsetting a lady from the country. Who knows what sort of thing might happen in the middle of no where?
"These scruples must seem very provincial to a gentleman with such elevated airs -"
He turns around once more.
"- but I do not devise these rules, I am merely obliged to obey them."
She curtseys again then spins on her heel, proceeding towards her original path.
Oh. He is certainly not going to let this go just yet. She has...admittedly intrigued him. "And I have been told there is much to see upon a walk, but all I've detected so far is there to be a tendency to see green above -" He points his cane upwards to the upper parts of the trees, full of foliage and barely anything else "- and brown below." With an odd sort of smirk, he points his cane to the ground this time.
"Yes, well...others have detected more. It is celebrated - there is even a book about Selbourne Wood."
Feigning to sound interested, he remarks a quiet, "Oh." And as she turns back again towards her path, he looks ahead - away from her - and adds, "A novel, perhaps." He knows she will stop. He realizes and remembers just how he knows her; and besides, she is one of those 'aspiring' female writers.
Just as predicted, she turns back. "Novels?" Her tone gives nothing away. "Being poor insipid things read by mere women? Even god forbid, written by mere women."
"I see." He raises his eyebrows, well aware that she likely won't buy his act of innocence. "We are talking of your reading."
"As if the writing of women did not display the greatest powers of the mind, knowledge of human nature, the liveliest diffusions of wit and humour in the best chosen language imaginable!" She has now reached him, each step closer, filled with even more passion. Her voice is stern, venomous with anger, even.
Calmly, "Was I difficient in rapture?"
"In consciousness."
He sighs, shaking his head. "It was..."
She waits, looking just a little smug, as though daring him to speak his mind. Yet, expectant as well.
Thoughtful, he tries again. "It was - accomplished."
She nods, looking disappointed, hurt and angry all at the same time before she wordlessly turns away. He watches her retreating figure, expecting her to provide the last word. She seems like the sort to try to get a last word. She turns around once more, giving him a sarcastic smile. "It was ironic."
...Right.
"And you are sure I've not offended you?" he calls out.
Briefly, she turns. "Not at all!"
He turns back and sighs, glancing about at the sea of trees.
That was...well, interesting to say the least.
