( once. a long time ago. another lifetime ago. another person ago.
in the halls of bottreaux castle hangs a portrait miniature of atticus in his naval uniform, the dark blue of the wool jacket starkly contrasting the plain white backdrop. leastwise, it was when he last visited. in the portrait, he was a decade younger, and though untouched by war and hardship, his expression bore a somberness like that of a graveyard. still, his features retained a soft, almost angelic quality as if botticelli himself had put the brush to ivory (in actuality, it was the great miniaturist, john smart, highly regarded for his detailed and realistic portraits).
lord cecil, as he was then known, had recently received his commission as a lieutenant abroad the hms eagle. inside him burned a desire to experience the world and put forth his small measure of goodness and change. then six years of war refashioned him, and when it was time to renew his commission, he declined. a lack of advancement and ships to captain also ensured an easier decision.
nodding, ) Just so, ma'am. I speak of the general, as in "we had a lovely time at tea today."
( though that is perhaps inaccurate if the firm set of mr hickinbottom's jaw was an indication to the contrary. in that, atticus finds yet another point of agreement with the gentleman. this gathering for tea has not been lovely, and to him, it shall be remembered as one of the worst. mr hickinbottom's glare, however, which is intended to scorch atticus's face with the intensity of a thousand suns, is instead a much-welcomed warmth to his soul. the corner of his mouth turns up, and when he hears miss bennet's observation, he's almost beaming at the sight of mr hickinbottom's misery.
so his voice is lively like the activity just outside the windows when he replies, ) Perhaps Poseidon, still determined to proclaim his presence despite the absence of worship, ensures the colour and clarity of such waters. ( atticus knows it is not so. but pretending so gives him an odd comfort; to think that nothing perished, and that every being who loved and wondered somehow also never perished. )
no subject
in the halls of bottreaux castle hangs a portrait miniature of atticus in his naval uniform, the dark blue of the wool jacket starkly contrasting the plain white backdrop. leastwise, it was when he last visited. in the portrait, he was a decade younger, and though untouched by war and hardship, his expression bore a somberness like that of a graveyard. still, his features retained a soft, almost angelic quality as if botticelli himself had put the brush to ivory (in actuality, it was the great miniaturist, john smart, highly regarded for his detailed and realistic portraits).
lord cecil, as he was then known, had recently received his commission as a lieutenant abroad the hms eagle. inside him burned a desire to experience the world and put forth his small measure of goodness and change. then six years of war refashioned him, and when it was time to renew his commission, he declined. a lack of advancement and ships to captain also ensured an easier decision.
nodding, ) Just so, ma'am. I speak of the general, as in "we had a lovely time at tea today."
( though that is perhaps inaccurate if the firm set of mr hickinbottom's jaw was an indication to the contrary. in that, atticus finds yet another point of agreement with the gentleman. this gathering for tea has not been lovely, and to him, it shall be remembered as one of the worst. mr hickinbottom's glare, however, which is intended to scorch atticus's face with the intensity of a thousand suns, is instead a much-welcomed warmth to his soul. the corner of his mouth turns up, and when he hears miss bennet's observation, he's almost beaming at the sight of mr hickinbottom's misery.
so his voice is lively like the activity just outside the windows when he replies, ) Perhaps Poseidon, still determined to proclaim his presence despite the absence of worship, ensures the colour and clarity of such waters. ( atticus knows it is not so. but pretending so gives him an odd comfort; to think that nothing perished, and that every being who loved and wondered somehow also never perished. )