George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
airshipswank) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2013-06-16 02:12 am
airshipswank) wrote in entrancelogs2013-06-16 02:12 am
[OPEN] Striptease for me, baby~
Who: Lord Buckingham (airshipswank), a yellow-eyed pervert who looks suspiciously like him & [OPEN]
Where: The dining hall, Buckingham's private stable, the music room & the mansion's corridors between his room [001 on the 10th floor] and those places
When: June 14th - 17th
Rating: R and counting for sexual themes
Summary: ♫ All the ways you never ever had
I want, I want you bad ♫
The Story: Buckingham turns slowly in his bed and feels the first rays of sunlight on his face. Electricity is a marvelous thing, but it keeps him up longer than candles often could. He rarely needs to make up for the long hours in the morning, but he'll allow himself a few more minutes with his eyes closed, before he starts the day.
Simple pleasures rarely capture his attention, but there is something to be cherished about soft sheets and their smell, about the warmth of a summer morning caressing his skin, the light and gentle breath at the back of his neck, and lithe fingers running playfully along his thigh, pulling up his gown and reaching eagerly for his-- what?!?!
The duke jumps up as if stung, spins and reaches for the knife by his bedside, looking back and staring-- staring frozen with clenched teeth and an incredulous frown at the creature in his bed, at the yellow eyes that watch him with half-lidded curiosity, at hands that make no motion to attack or pursue him; that indeed do not do much of anything but stroke the exposed bed sheet lazily while the thing-- while the thing that resembles him more than his mirror ever did, while- while it stretches with a yawn and finally speaks in a sulky voice:
"Does that... mean you'll not come back to bed?"
airshipswank), a yellow-eyed pervert who looks suspiciously like him & [OPEN]Where: The dining hall, Buckingham's private stable, the music room & the mansion's corridors between his room [001 on the 10th floor] and those places
When: June 14th - 17th
Rating: R and counting for sexual themes
Summary: ♫ All the ways you never ever had
I want, I want you bad ♫
The Story: Buckingham turns slowly in his bed and feels the first rays of sunlight on his face. Electricity is a marvelous thing, but it keeps him up longer than candles often could. He rarely needs to make up for the long hours in the morning, but he'll allow himself a few more minutes with his eyes closed, before he starts the day.
Simple pleasures rarely capture his attention, but there is something to be cherished about soft sheets and their smell, about the warmth of a summer morning caressing his skin, the light and gentle breath at the back of his neck, and lithe fingers running playfully along his thigh, pulling up his gown and reaching eagerly for his-- what?!?!
The duke jumps up as if stung, spins and reaches for the knife by his bedside, looking back and staring-- staring frozen with clenched teeth and an incredulous frown at the creature in his bed, at the yellow eyes that watch him with half-lidded curiosity, at hands that make no motion to attack or pursue him; that indeed do not do much of anything but stroke the exposed bed sheet lazily while the thing-- while the thing that resembles him more than his mirror ever did, while- while it stretches with a yawn and finally speaks in a sulky voice:
"Does that... mean you'll not come back to bed?"
no subject
She's passing the stables on the way to the orchards when she hears a pair of voices. Martha pauses, because in her experience the stables aren't that often actually made use of.
While she knows that she should likely just keep to herself, Martha decides that there's no harm in quickly poking her head in. She likes to look at the horses sometimes, even though she has no training on how to handle them and doesn't get too close for that reason.
When she does draw closer, she sees both Buckingham (unmistakable due to his attire) and a duplicate of him standing there with a horse. Martha knows that the smart thing to do is just duck her head away and drag her shadow to another part of the grounds, she knows that, but the words come out of her mouth before she's able to push herself into motion. "Is that horse yours?"
no subject
He perks up eagerly at their visitors and has jumped to open the gate to the stable before Buckingham can even consider to object.
"Come in, my gorgeous Martha, come in! I've yearned to see you again, I have... thought of you quite often and mmhhhh, rather vividly, if you catch my meaning, you have made my--"
"Ascalon," Buckingham interrupts sharply and steps between his Shadow and Miss Jones, ushering her away from the gate and his yellow-eyed copy (who glowers with disapproval, but contents himself with a deep kiss on the hand of Martha's Shadow... for the time being).
"That horse is named Ascalon, he is... indeed mine, Miss Jones, and that... creature is best ignored entirely."
A sharp glare at the Shadow to emphasise his point, and a sheepish look at his guest to apologise for the tragedy of such unfortunate circumstance.
no subject
He starts off immediately with a blatant flirt. No, it's not so much a flirt as a full-blown proposition, and Martha stares back at the yellow-eyed brute with widened eyes.
Thankfully, Buckingham himself interrupts, saving her from having to respond to that comment. As she's pulled away by him, she notices that kiss exchanged out of the corner of her eye. Her shadow accepts it with a wide smile, which doesn't seem right at all. Martha would never be glad for that kind of attention.
"Come now, it wouldn't be so bad, would it, Martha? You haven't had a good shag ever since you decided to break off your engagement, after all."
That kind of information is the last thing she needs shared in this company. It's not something she particularly likes speaking about with good friends, let alone someone from the 1600's. "In that case, I'd appreciate it if you ignored mine as well," she says with a long-suffering sigh. Martha does what she can to focus on the horse instead, reaching out carefully for it.
Ascalon. It's a nice name.
no subject
"No gods, no kings, you said so, and now not- not even husbands, not that I've been kept away, ever kept away by either of the three, mhhhhh, but you must hear it sometime, they moan for me so much louder than they pray to their God!"
Buckingham grimaces. He distracts Ascalon with a sugar cube and holds his head steady by the harness. A horse whose temper already has him wary of strangers does not benefit from the company of yellow-eyed impostors.
"You asked me how I would rank the hills on which we met and I... disapproved. I think I was, perhaps, too quick to speak my verdict, all... things considered I would rather have them back now."
no subject
Her shadow seems to have had enough, though, since she pushes him away and shakes her head. "Sorry, mate, but this one doesn't seem to like intimacy with no attachments. It's a shame, though. Would have been fun."
When Buckingham admits that he would much rather have Truffala Valley back in place of this, Martha laughs bitterly and nods. "I would think so. This has been... tiring, to say the least."
But she wonders if there might be a way to get away from their shadows after all. She eyes Ascalon carefully. "You know, only about two people can fit on a horse... and I doubt they'll be able to run fast enough to keep up." Or to yell over the sound of hoofbeats. It's an idea, even if Martha really isn't all that comfortable with the idea of horseback riding. If she's riding behind Buckingham, it shouldn't be so bad, though that does require a certain amount of physical closeness -- still, it's better than watching the display between their shadows.
Her shadow looks at her and lets out a sigh. "Always running."
no subject
...Which only increases the pleasant surprise Buckingham finds in his guest's endurance of the situation, still showing no affronted urgency to withdraw from the duke's company, even when the Shadow persists.
Now Buckingham is about to comment on the proposed plan, when his Shadow--
"It needn't end because of that, my beauty! I use my tongue better still than my cock, my sweet Martha, I'll have you believe whatever you need--"
...when his Shadow convinces him that the proposed plan is better executed than discussed. Adjusting Ascalon's saddle quickly the duke mounts his horse without another word and offers Martha his hand and help to get behind him on the saddle.
"Shall we, Miss Jones?"
no subject
Hearing it, though, and said so crudely -- that's a different story. Martha slaps her hand over her mouth and stares at Buckingham's mirror in abject horror. There are certain things you're simply not supposed to say.
Her shadow, meanwhile, only laughs at her, tickled by the prudishness.
It's Buckingham's offer from the horse that drags her out of her shock, and Martha turns toward him, taking his hand and then hefting herself up onto the horse behind him. It's an awkward position to be in, the physical closeness more or less the last thing she needs at this point after hearing that, but she doesn't see any better option.
After a brief pause, Martha wraps her arms around Buckingham's waist and then nods. "Yes, let's."
"Don't let him sweep you off your feet too much there, Martha Jones," her shadows warns with a playful smile. "Last time all it took was a kiss, yeah?"
no subject
"If you celebrate your rescue, remember to dismount before claiming your reward!"
-before urging Ascalon out of the stable and into a quick gallop, relieved when the yellow-eyed thing's words fade into the distance.
"I'd loathe another Salcey, when your leg has only just recovered!"
Just not as fast as he wishes they could, but once the horse's pace is set the mansion disappears behind them almost instantly, smaller and smaller (were they to look back) while the vast ocean in front of them approaches.
Riding as fast as an extra passenger will allow the duke does not end their escape until the green grass rushing past underneath them has finally turned to sand and he cautiously nudges Ascalon to pace himself, gradually signalling the horse to slow down to a considerably less bumpy walk in the direction of the forest.
Only when that is done he finally looks over his shoulder.
"You don't suppose we'll have to fear a yellow-eyed horse catching up to us, do you?"
no subject
Horsebacking riding by the beach -- it's got cliché written all over it, but this couldn't even approach romantic, considering the circumstances. Even though Martha's arms are wrapped tight around his waist and her chest is pressed up against his back, her mind is more focused on what was said back there and how mortifying it all was.
Still, they'd managed a dashing escape, so that's something. As the horse falls into a trot and Martha is no longer fighting to move with its galloping, she relaxes slightly, loosening her hold. She laughs at his question. "I hope not." It does bring up something else she'd wanted to ask before the shadows interrupted, but first things first...
Maybe she shouldn't question him on it. It's not fair, when it's his shadow who mentioned it, but she can't quite resist, especially with the mention of some sort of leg injury. She hadn't noticed him limping during their walk before. "What's Salcey?" Or who, for that matter?
no subject
(He certainly had no romantic notions in mind when he choose their escape route, and "as far away from the Shadows as possible" seemed the only direction that truly mattered at the time.)
Buckingham wonders whether they ought to dismount, but what if the concern spoken in jest has its validity after all? No, might as well keep riding for the time being.
(Especially since a valid reason to avoid eye contact might yet prove to be rather useful.)
"Who I could not say, but I know where, at least I presume as much."
He'd not dare to imply, after all, that the Shadow's line of thinking was quite so clear and simple to follow.
"Salcey Forest. Near Hartwell? A fine place for a hunt,... although I do recall a small riding accident there, some years ago, hardly... worth the mention."
Which is indeed true enough, as far as the sustained injury was concerned, although the circumstances surrounding it were rather more... elaborate than that. A horse, in short, is not a car, and any, ah, leisurely distractions attempted on one are doomed to fail in a manner as comical as it was painful. Oh, but it did seem like a perfectly sound idea at the time.
(As for his injury in Wonderland? Another small matter that came and went, and was barely more than a lingering whisper of discomfort by the time he met Miss Jones.)
Buckingham contemplates asking about the other Shadow's call in return, about that kiss the creature deems so remarkably significant, because curiosity would certainly demand it, but then Miss Jones's curiosity might demand further inquiry as well, and so, perhaps they... will agree on mutual silence instead.
no subject
The lack of eye contact is an added bonus.
Salcey Forest, right. Martha's never been there, and she doesn't think there's all that much to see there, but it must have been a popular spot for men to go hunting back during Buckingham's time. Hunting for sport is the sort of thing that leaves a bad taste in her mouth, but there's no denying that nobles at that time were expected to do it.
The way he speaks about the injury, as if it's something that happened to someone else rather than to him, is enough to make Martha smile to herself. Such pride, and for what? It doesn't seem to matter much when she can see right through it.
(Though if she knew the whole story, she would definitely be judging. Definitely. Positively. Absolutely. And likely laughing as well.)
But curiosity may as well be Martha's middle name, and so a follow-up question is posed almost instantly. "What was it? Did you get thrown from the horse? Too enthusiastic about shooting some poor deer?" The barbed comment is something she can't quite help.
no subject
...Why, it would make for a suitable change of subject right this very moment, because not only is his ever so graceful lack of inquiries not reciprocated in the least, Buckingham also has an ever so slight hunch that Martha's voice might just contain a certain air of disapproval.
"It was..."
A long time ago, and therefore should not at all raise suspicion when he trails of to-- to recall what occurred (rather than to fish for a suitable excuse to substitute for the truth, oh no, that would be absurd!).
"It was just that, although I blame my horse's fear rather than my own enthusiasm. She... did not have Ascalon's temper, and when a viper emerged from the grass she reared up and ran."
Ahh, yes. That was the old story, wasn't it? Buckingham smiles, unseen.
"I take it you think the accident well-deserved. Not an admirer of the sport, eh?"
The reaction is a small curiosity to him, but he finds little doubt as to her disdain, even though he cannot find an explanation to match. He knows of several men and women with no talent or stomach for the hunt, but none that he recalls have ever expressed distaste, although... none have lived in a century not his own.
no subject
"Not exactly," Martha says in response to his question. "I am a doctor, after all. It's difficult for me to approve of any unnecessary death." She can only hope that they'd at least been eating the animals after shooting them. That makes it far easier for her to swallow.
They've reached the forest itself by now, and Martha can't help the urge to glance down around the brush in search of any animals.
"Let's hope that no snakes hiding around here." It's a tease. She knows there aren't any snakes, she's been in the forest enough times to realize that all of the animals there are more or less harmless. Still, the fact that she's still on the horse after hearing his story does show that she's allotting him a certain amount of trust.
Maybe if they spend a bit more time in here and then circle back to the mansion, they can avoid their shadows.
no subject
"I'll rather have a nest of them, if it rids me of Wonderland's--"
As if on cue with the name Ascalon gives a petulant snort and stops, trampling the ground in place uneasily. Buckingham pulls tight at his reins before he can rear up, and steers the animal to the right, back towards the mansion. His last attempt was so long ago, he nearly forgot its result, but the forest, so his stubborn steed has decreed with obnoxious clarity, is off limits, unless the duke wishes to explore it on foot.
"...too colourful surprises."
Satisfied that they will remain at the trees' edge Ascalon resume a leisurely pace, and Buckingham resumes his response, without addressing the episode.
"You are a... doctor, you say. You've not mentioned, but I thought I remembered from... a transmission. Times have changed the profession, I imagine."
It starts with her being one to begin with, assuming her role is truly that of a physician, not a midwife or the sort of quack that dons mask and robes when the plague sweeps the streets. Buckingham has little reason to doubt her word in that regard.
And perhaps that is the very point of intrigue, the truth and the glimpse he stole of the clinic once, having never quite found cause or inspiration to pay a thorough visit, but its function, its very appearance... it takes practice to hide how little sense he can make of it all.
no subject
She can't blame him for being sick of the events, especially when she considers the fact that he's been enduring them for much longer than she has. Still, they've managed to make the best of it, and there's no sign of those shadows, so she's going to call it a win for now.
When her profession is brought up, Martha blinks, as it's true that she'd never told him. She's honestly surprised that Buckingham had even paid that much attention. All attempts at chivalry and polite manner aside, he does strike her as a bit self-absorbed.
"It... has, yes." She knows what he's getting at, of course, but he's not being nearly as tactless about it as America was, thankfully. "Women doctors are perfectly common in my time period. A woman can do just about any job, in fact." Which may be hard for him to grasp, but there it is.