http://failedspinster.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
failedspinster.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trennels2015-05-22 09:22 pm
failedspinster.livejournal.com) wrote in trennels2015-05-22 09:22 pm
Entry tags:
Peter's Room fan fic - grateful for feedback
First time poster here so please accept apologies in advance if this is breaking any rules. Below the cut you'll find my first ever piece of fan fiction, a short 600-word "deleted scene", if you like, from the end of chapter 9 of Peter's Room, when Nicola has realised that Patrick and Ginty are Gondalling without her. Feedback most welcome.
A Falcon Mantling
Rosina or no, the geese should have been hers.
Nicola turned away, sick at heart. Nothing mattered as much as not letting the others see. She thrust her hands deep in her pockets and, concentrating on acting casually, strolled away: just a little way, as if she was lost in thought...
"Nick!" It was Lawrie, come out from her perch on the stairs where she had been so busy entertaining the group. "Mr M's sent me out, very kindly if you please, to get some fresh air. What have I missed?" Her eyes were bright with hock-cup and an audience; the evening was a success for her.
"Nothing," Nicola said cheerfully, concentrating on trying to sound convincing. How easy this would be if she were Lawrie, and Lawrie Nicola! But it was nothing; nothing apart from white frills and missed chances, nothing apart from feeling at a disadvantage, and being out of it, and the geese - so fantastical, so unlikely, so very much a Nick thing - being suddenly awarded to Ginty, who wouldn't care for them at all.
Lawrie laughed and whirled away. Typical, Nick thought viciously, of Lawrie to forget that anyone else had feelings but her, that anyone might feel differently from her...In Lawrie's mind, the party was a success, and nobody would think anything else. She picked her way with exaggerated care among the group, stopping to share a word with Patrick and Ginty where they stood, a little too close for comfort. Ginty's head inclined, ever so slightly, towards Patrick's; Patrick wore his Gondal look, hooded of eye and silent. Nothing to see here, Nick thought. Nothing, that was, unless you were Nick, and knew.
She turned back from them, and began moving again; further into the Merricks' orchard. The cheerful noise of the partygoers receded gradually, became indistinct; an owl called from somewhere further on. Away from them, now, out of sight, she stopped to lean against a tree; its broad solidity was comforting. In the white frills she could hardly climb it, and besides, they were bound to see if she did, and she'd catch it then; another disadvantage of white frills was thar you could be seen from a long way away in the dark....
A thought occurred, and she groped in the small, ornamental pocket of the white frilled horror. Her sixteen-bladed knife gleamed in the dark; scratch, scritch, carving a perfect M on the trunk. M for Marlow, M, too, for Merrick. And M for mine, she thought, and put the thought hastily away before she could examine her thinking further, and what it might mean. She paused. And what else? She moved round the tree, and found a space tucked under a branch for a secret tribute. No one would see it unless they knew where to look. It took her time, and care, to get it right, in the little light afforded by the thin moon, but when she stood back, it was a fair representation: a falcon, mantling, like the carving in the Minster. Rosina or no Rosina, the geese should have been hers, shared with her, as she had shared with him the carved falcon. The falcon was his.
"Where did you get to?" Patrick asked, as he saw her emerge from the orchard, wearing an odd, secretive look. She smiled and moved past him without answering. She could have a secret, too, and, like his, it was only a matter of time before someone would find it out.
A Falcon Mantling
Rosina or no, the geese should have been hers.
Nicola turned away, sick at heart. Nothing mattered as much as not letting the others see. She thrust her hands deep in her pockets and, concentrating on acting casually, strolled away: just a little way, as if she was lost in thought...
"Nick!" It was Lawrie, come out from her perch on the stairs where she had been so busy entertaining the group. "Mr M's sent me out, very kindly if you please, to get some fresh air. What have I missed?" Her eyes were bright with hock-cup and an audience; the evening was a success for her.
"Nothing," Nicola said cheerfully, concentrating on trying to sound convincing. How easy this would be if she were Lawrie, and Lawrie Nicola! But it was nothing; nothing apart from white frills and missed chances, nothing apart from feeling at a disadvantage, and being out of it, and the geese - so fantastical, so unlikely, so very much a Nick thing - being suddenly awarded to Ginty, who wouldn't care for them at all.
Lawrie laughed and whirled away. Typical, Nick thought viciously, of Lawrie to forget that anyone else had feelings but her, that anyone might feel differently from her...In Lawrie's mind, the party was a success, and nobody would think anything else. She picked her way with exaggerated care among the group, stopping to share a word with Patrick and Ginty where they stood, a little too close for comfort. Ginty's head inclined, ever so slightly, towards Patrick's; Patrick wore his Gondal look, hooded of eye and silent. Nothing to see here, Nick thought. Nothing, that was, unless you were Nick, and knew.
She turned back from them, and began moving again; further into the Merricks' orchard. The cheerful noise of the partygoers receded gradually, became indistinct; an owl called from somewhere further on. Away from them, now, out of sight, she stopped to lean against a tree; its broad solidity was comforting. In the white frills she could hardly climb it, and besides, they were bound to see if she did, and she'd catch it then; another disadvantage of white frills was thar you could be seen from a long way away in the dark....
A thought occurred, and she groped in the small, ornamental pocket of the white frilled horror. Her sixteen-bladed knife gleamed in the dark; scratch, scritch, carving a perfect M on the trunk. M for Marlow, M, too, for Merrick. And M for mine, she thought, and put the thought hastily away before she could examine her thinking further, and what it might mean. She paused. And what else? She moved round the tree, and found a space tucked under a branch for a secret tribute. No one would see it unless they knew where to look. It took her time, and care, to get it right, in the little light afforded by the thin moon, but when she stood back, it was a fair representation: a falcon, mantling, like the carving in the Minster. Rosina or no Rosina, the geese should have been hers, shared with her, as she had shared with him the carved falcon. The falcon was his.
"Where did you get to?" Patrick asked, as he saw her emerge from the orchard, wearing an odd, secretive look. She smiled and moved past him without answering. She could have a secret, too, and, like his, it was only a matter of time before someone would find it out.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Not that it makes any difference to all but the most committed falconer, but the one in the Minster was warbling, not mantling.
no subject
no subject
no subject
(Anonymous) 2015-05-27 07:26 pm (UTC)(link)