Selkie Snippet
Oct. 5th, 2020 03:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tgarnslA couple bits from my selkie story, in which Bush is a selkie and Hornblower, having lost Hotspur's first lieutenant to an accident and in desperate need of another, steals Bush's skin. He realises quite quickly what he's done and returns it, but instead of killing him as he expects, Bush asks to stay on as lieutenant for reasons of his own.
--
“I never made you a proper offer, you know,” said Horatio, when the wine was gone.
William raised a quizzical eyebrow. “A… proper offer, sir?” He seemed puzzled, but after a moment he shrugged his shoulders in a most un-English gesture, and smiled. “I didn’t know that’s what you wanted of me, sir, but if that’s what you fancy…” He licked his lips, a curious hunger on his face, and put a hand on Horatio’s knee.
Horatio went stock still, his heart racing. “No… that’s….” he stammered, aware that he wore his embarrassment plain on his face. “I didn’t mean that. I… ah…” He could see now how it must look to William: the meal, the wine, the return of the skin, the swimming — and now he had sat beside William, the both of them as naked as the day they were born, and attempted to make an ‘offer’ to him. Oh, God, the poor creature must have thought he was being courted — seduced, really, there was no other word for it — and had responded accordingly. There was that old weakness of Horatio’s to laugh in moments of crisis — it rose up within him now and he giggled, quite stupidly, and drew his knees to his chest, William’s hand falling from his leg.
“I see. That was not what you meant,” said William, and in the poor light of the lantern Horatio saw that his cheeks were flushed. He rubbed his hand on his thigh, an oddly nervous gesture for someone whose confidence was rarely disturbed.
“I would like you as my first lieutenant,” Horatio said, the words tripping over each other as he hastened to get them out. “I would like it very much.”
William nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the sea. “And if I choose to go back to my kith?”
“I will not stop you.”
There was a heavy silence, until William turned his face to Horatio and smiled, his teeth white and sharp in the darkness.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t ask, you know,” he said.
--
William was revolted by London. He stared out of the carriage window in horror as they rolled through the city streets, growling in disgust when what he saw displeased him. He seemed to dislike everything: the costermongers with their carts, the horses in the street, the fine carriages and the filthy slums, and nothing Horatio could say improved his opinion.
“You are animals,” he pronounced when the carriage drew up in front of the Admiralty. “You call this the heart of your great civilisation? It’s filthy. A shit-filled gull nest is cleaner than this.” Horatio nodded, only half listening, and opened the carriage door. It had rained only the night before and the streets were slick, pools of brown water stagnating in the ruts of the road. Carefully, he stepped out, managing to avoid the large puddle pooling beneath the carriage.
“Mind the puddle,” he warned, but William ignored him, sticking his head out of the carriage door and sniffing pointedly, his nose wrinkling in displeasure as he breathed in the stench of London.
“It smells like the arse end of a rotted whale,” he pronounced, and leapt from the carriage, landing with a splash into the very puddle Horatio had warned him about. Horatio turned just in time, the mud spattering across the backs of his calves, but William fared far worse; his breeches were stained with muck, his stockings and shoes utterly ruined. Even his satchel containing his precious sealskin had been dirtied. Horatio watched as William’s face turned dark with anger, a low, deadly rumble coming from his chest as he inspected the damage.
“I hate this city, sir,” he snarled, and Horatio nodded in sympathy.
“I know,” said Horatio, soothingly, and held out his arm for William to take. “Come along, we’d best get inside and see if we can’t salvage your uniform.”
By some miracle they passed into the Admiralty unbothered, in spite of the doorman eyeing William in his mud-stained uniform strangely and Horatio having to restrain William from growling at the poor man. Having stated their business they were bustled into a waiting room where, to the shock of several officers, William stripped naked, bundling his hated uniform into his satchel, and wrapped himself in his sealskin. Horatio caught the men staring and smiled awkwardly as he hurried across the room to sit beside William on a narrow wooden bench.
“They’ll know what you are now,” warned Horatio, his voice low and quiet so as to not be overheard. “They’ll talk.”
“Let ‘em, sir,” said William, rearranging the sealskin to drape more naturally over himself.
“They’ll think I’m a skin-stealer.”
William fixed him with a look. “You are,” he said curtly, and then added, “Sir.”
“Yes, but…” Horatio looked around, aware of the eyes on him. “But not for the reason they likely think.”
--
“I never made you a proper offer, you know,” said Horatio, when the wine was gone.
William raised a quizzical eyebrow. “A… proper offer, sir?” He seemed puzzled, but after a moment he shrugged his shoulders in a most un-English gesture, and smiled. “I didn’t know that’s what you wanted of me, sir, but if that’s what you fancy…” He licked his lips, a curious hunger on his face, and put a hand on Horatio’s knee.
Horatio went stock still, his heart racing. “No… that’s….” he stammered, aware that he wore his embarrassment plain on his face. “I didn’t mean that. I… ah…” He could see now how it must look to William: the meal, the wine, the return of the skin, the swimming — and now he had sat beside William, the both of them as naked as the day they were born, and attempted to make an ‘offer’ to him. Oh, God, the poor creature must have thought he was being courted — seduced, really, there was no other word for it — and had responded accordingly. There was that old weakness of Horatio’s to laugh in moments of crisis — it rose up within him now and he giggled, quite stupidly, and drew his knees to his chest, William’s hand falling from his leg.
“I see. That was not what you meant,” said William, and in the poor light of the lantern Horatio saw that his cheeks were flushed. He rubbed his hand on his thigh, an oddly nervous gesture for someone whose confidence was rarely disturbed.
“I would like you as my first lieutenant,” Horatio said, the words tripping over each other as he hastened to get them out. “I would like it very much.”
William nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the sea. “And if I choose to go back to my kith?”
“I will not stop you.”
There was a heavy silence, until William turned his face to Horatio and smiled, his teeth white and sharp in the darkness.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t ask, you know,” he said.
--
William was revolted by London. He stared out of the carriage window in horror as they rolled through the city streets, growling in disgust when what he saw displeased him. He seemed to dislike everything: the costermongers with their carts, the horses in the street, the fine carriages and the filthy slums, and nothing Horatio could say improved his opinion.
“You are animals,” he pronounced when the carriage drew up in front of the Admiralty. “You call this the heart of your great civilisation? It’s filthy. A shit-filled gull nest is cleaner than this.” Horatio nodded, only half listening, and opened the carriage door. It had rained only the night before and the streets were slick, pools of brown water stagnating in the ruts of the road. Carefully, he stepped out, managing to avoid the large puddle pooling beneath the carriage.
“Mind the puddle,” he warned, but William ignored him, sticking his head out of the carriage door and sniffing pointedly, his nose wrinkling in displeasure as he breathed in the stench of London.
“It smells like the arse end of a rotted whale,” he pronounced, and leapt from the carriage, landing with a splash into the very puddle Horatio had warned him about. Horatio turned just in time, the mud spattering across the backs of his calves, but William fared far worse; his breeches were stained with muck, his stockings and shoes utterly ruined. Even his satchel containing his precious sealskin had been dirtied. Horatio watched as William’s face turned dark with anger, a low, deadly rumble coming from his chest as he inspected the damage.
“I hate this city, sir,” he snarled, and Horatio nodded in sympathy.
“I know,” said Horatio, soothingly, and held out his arm for William to take. “Come along, we’d best get inside and see if we can’t salvage your uniform.”
By some miracle they passed into the Admiralty unbothered, in spite of the doorman eyeing William in his mud-stained uniform strangely and Horatio having to restrain William from growling at the poor man. Having stated their business they were bustled into a waiting room where, to the shock of several officers, William stripped naked, bundling his hated uniform into his satchel, and wrapped himself in his sealskin. Horatio caught the men staring and smiled awkwardly as he hurried across the room to sit beside William on a narrow wooden bench.
“They’ll know what you are now,” warned Horatio, his voice low and quiet so as to not be overheard. “They’ll talk.”
“Let ‘em, sir,” said William, rearranging the sealskin to drape more naturally over himself.
“They’ll think I’m a skin-stealer.”
William fixed him with a look. “You are,” he said curtly, and then added, “Sir.”
“Yes, but…” Horatio looked around, aware of the eyes on him. “But not for the reason they likely think.”
