#and never talks to henry or any of the bertrams ever again

[cedarboots]

save fanny price 2k23

[bethanydelleman]

Edmund Bertram, Love him or Hate Him?

For the life of me I can’t decide!

Edmund starts strong, he is sixteen when Fanny comes to live at Mansfield and his kindness when he finds her crying in the staircase is very empathetic, especially for a teenager. But then he just seems to slide downhill. “Fanny must have a horse” (Ch 4) he declares and then trades one of his own! So heroic! Then Mary Crawford shows up and all of this Fanny needing to ride for her health goes right out the window. Mary likes to ride and she borrows “Fanny’s” horse for a whole week, resulting in Fanny becoming very ill. Edmund admits: “His own forgetfulness of her was worse than anything which they had done.” (Ch 7).

But then again, is that fair? All of the burden for Fanny’s care should not be on Edmund, and yet, I can’t help but be irked by his failures because he knows that he’s the only one who cares. And he seems to think of himself as her protector, “he led her directly, with the kind authority of a privileged guardian, into the house” (Ch 35)

Unlike the rest of his family (or like every other character in the book, except Sir Thomas and of course, Fanny), Edmund is willing to give up immediate pleasure for someone else’s comfort. Knowing that Fanny wants to go to Southerton, Edmund offers to stay with his mother so his cousin can go (Ch 8). Julia is so unwilling to give up this trip that she leaves the room so no one will suggest that she should volunteer as well. Now does Edmund totally forget that Fanny wanted to see the avenue, yes, but at least she got to go!

And yet, Edmund is selfish, though in a less obvious way than the rest of his family. When he tries to talk to Fanny about Henry Crawford, he actually talks about himself and Mary (Ch 35), and Fanny is even bold enough to redirect him. When he writes to Fanny finally in Portsmouth, he doesn’t even ask how she is and then wants her to come back for his own benefit (Ch 44). He wants Fanny to accept Henry so he has a better chance with Mary (not the primary reason, but it is there). When he picks up Fanny from Portsmouth, and she’s literally starving and looks sick, he says, “Fanny, think of me!” (emphasis author’s, Ch 46). And unlike other faulty Austen men, he never gets better, he forces Fanny to listen to him whining about Mary for months! (Ch 48)

But on the positive side, Edmund has all the responsibility of an eldest son but none of the fun. He takes over management of the estate when his father and Tom leave for Antigua (Ch 4). When Tom returns, he almost instantly leaves again and Edmund dutifully remains, caring for something he will probably never inherit. He really wants to go to London to propose to Mary, but chooses to stay with his parents instead “he could not leave his father and mother just when everybody else of most importance to their comfort was leaving them” (Ch 38). Familial duty was far more important in this era and Edmund is the only Bertram sibling who displays any.

In addition, Edmund doesn’t seem to hate or resent Tom, even though he must at least suspect that Tom lost him half his inheritance gambling (Ch 3). They don’t seem to have a great relationship, when Edmund tries to disagree with the play Tom basically shuts him down by saying that he is the heir (Ch 13), but Edmund is the first to see sick Tom and his primary nurse for his illness. Pretty selfless given that Tom’s death would be the best thing ever for Edmund.

However, Edmund is fully aware that Fanny doesn’t have a fire in her bedroom in the winter, but he does nothing about it, he just tells her not to read too long in the cold (Ch 16). When Mary visits the East Room to practice Act III of Lovers Vows (Ch 18), she notices the empty grate and Edmund comes in soon afterwards. He also goes to Fanny’s room to deliver the gold chain. Neither time does he notice or seem to care that Fanny, his sickly cousin, is being left in the freezing cold. This irks me because when Sir Thomas comes in, he notices right away, demands an explanation, and then fixes it (Ch 32). Could Fanny have been warm earlier? Or is Edmund not brave enough to challenge Mrs. Norris directly? He’s basically in charge of the estate for two years!

Edmund does not listen to Fanny or have any respect for her judgement, even though he “formed her mind” (Ch 7) He tries to force Fanny to sanction his participating in the play against her better (and correct) judgement “I am more sorry to see you drawn in to do what you had resolved against, and what you are known to think will be disagreeable to my uncle. It will be such a triumph to the others!” said Fanny, prophetically (Ch 16) but he disregards her (not only is she right about Sir Thomas, Maria and Tom do delight in their triumph over Edmund). Sounds a lot like Mr. Collins ignoring Elizabeth’s sound advice about Mr. Darcy. He also ignores her and thinks up a ridiculous excuse when Fanny tries to warn him about Henry and Maria during the play (Ch 12). In a more distasteful example, when Fanny tells Edmund the truth about how she feels about Crawford he says, “This is not like yourself, your rational self.” (Ch 35) How downright dismissive of her feelings! Can Elizabeth Bennet please appear and yell, “[she is a] rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart!!!” at him a few times? Please?!?

Edmund also sits back and facilitates Henry harassing Fanny by pretending to read a newspaper (Ch 34).

Despite his profession being chosen for him, Edmund actually wants to be a good clergyman. He continues in this conviction even though Mary, the lady he totally has the hots for, doesn’t want him to be “useful in his parish” (Ch 9). Mary hints that she could accept him if he took the money and hired a curate, but he won’t do it. This is despite the fact that Mary (regardless of her amorality) is a CATCH, the kind of girl any second son would only dream of. But then again, he talks of how important it is to live in his parish, but he was supposed to inherit two. So how do you square that circle?

The moment where Edmund and Sir Thomas work together to keep Aunt Norris away from Fanny and William during his first visit is very cute (Ch 24), but is that enough to make me forgive his other faults?

Edmund doesn’t listen to women, he doesn’t change his behaviour over the course of the book, he doesn’t learn from his mistakes, and he doesn’t respect the heroine. He’s not a hero, he’s a villain. Mansfield Park only has a heroine, no hero. (Unless you count the heroic William Price) Edmund Bertram: His only redeemable trait is being less awful than his family, which is why, “she was of course only too good for him” (Ch 48)

Well, I got a little passionate there, I think the real issue is, I want to know that Edmund can finally see Fanny as an equal, not an extension of himself or a weak, dependant, but actually a woman with a mind in her own right. We get that for Emma, for example, despite Knightley lecturing her, he does respect her intelligence. But because Edmund and Fanny’s entire love story is off-screen, we never get that. So it’s really hard for me to love Edmund or the final pairing of him with Fanny.

[queenofcats17]

If you are taking Requests, could you do an Ink Fumes AU fic surrounding Shawn, Lacie, and Grant as the butcher gang? If not, then just keep up the good work. Your fics are awesome to read.

You’re in luck! I was just thinking of writing that scenario! Also including Bertram as well because I couldn’t resist.

Henry had, perhaps naively, thought that the fume related shenanigans were at an end. It had been months and no one had experienced any hallucinations. By this point, Henry was almost back full time. Joey had changed for the better, and Henry felt much more comfortable working with his friend. Although he did often have to remind Joey to take his medication. Anyway, it had been months and no one had tried to attack anyone because of hallucinations. There had been a few scuffles between Wally and Sammy, but that was normal. Henry was starting to get used to life at the studio again. Then it began once more.

It started with Susie. Again. Henry entered the breakroom to find Shawn holding a bag of ice up to a black eye.

“What happened to you?” Henry asked.

“Miss Campbell fell in the ink and started thinkin’ she was Alice again,” Shawn grumbled. “Kept grabbin’ my toys and tearin’ the stuffin’ outta them before tryin’ to stuff it in her face. Tied me up and called me a freak when I tried to stop her.”

“What? Again?” Henry stifled an internal groan. “I thought the pipes were fixed.” Thomas and his company had mostly managed to fix the pipes system so that they hardly ever leaked anymore. Thus the instances of ink based afflictions had gone way down.

“Mr. Drew was tryin’ somethin’ and it overloaded the pipes.” Shawn shrugged. “Dumped a buncha ink in the stairwell.”

Henry sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “Guess I’m going to have to have another talk with Joey.”

Shawn shrugged, reaching for a cup of coffee with his free hand. “Don’t yell at him too much, he’s been havin’ a panic attack all mornin’ about it.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Henry assured him with a weary smile. He left for Joey’s office, hoping that this was an isolated incident and that there wouldn’t be any more ink based hallucinations.

Unfortunately, as he saw in later days, whatever Joey had done had wreaked some serious havoc with the pipes. For the next week, pipes would randomly burst, showering the unfortunate employees with ink. Thomas and his team were working around the clock to fix them, but there were still a few….incidents. Such as the day Henry came in and immediately heard people screaming about someone being stuck on top of Bertram’s octopus ride.

“Wally.” Henry caught the janitor by the arm as he tried to hurry past. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Piedmont got doused with ink and now he’s on top of his ride,” Wally said. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be laughing or panicking.

“…How?”

“Uh…Not sure?” Wally smiled apologetically. “I mean, he’s like 60. Ya wouldn’t think he could do it.” Henry sighed. It was too early for this. He hadn’t even had his coffee yet.

“Do we have a ladder?” He asked, taking his glasses off and cleaning them. They didn’t need cleaning, it just calmed him down to do.

“Oh, yeah. I’m goin’ to get one right now.” Wally said. “You wanna come with me? It’ll probably take two of us to move it.” Henry nodded, putting his glasses on again.

Together, the two of them carried the ladder down to the warehouse where Bertram’s ride was stored. A large group of people had gathered to observe the commotion. Sure enough, Bertram was perched on top of the ride, spinning and screaming about how he was still here. Joey stood in the doorway, pale and picking at his cuticles. Judging from the bloody mess on his fingers, he wasn’t doing so great.

“You know that’s not good for you.” Henry stepped away from the ladder to gently force Joey’s hands apart. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping it around Joey’s bloodied hand.

“I know.” Joey managed a weak smile. “I just…This is my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to summon Bendy so early.” Given that everything was going well, Joey had gotten the idea into his head that he could somehow summon the characters into the real world. It…wasn’t going the way he’d thought it would.

“You can only beat yourself up for so long, old friend.” Henry patted Joey’s back. “You made a mistake and you’ve owned up to it. That’s all I can ask you to do.”

“Okay, Mr. Piedmont, let’s get you down,” Wally said, reaching out toward Bertram.

Bertram stopped yelling, tilting his head to the side curiously. “Boris? What the Devil are you doing down here?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m Boris.” Wally rolled his eyes. “We gotta get you down before you crack your head open, Mr. Piedmont.”

“My body is trapped inside this ride, there is no ‘getting down’,” Bertram responded as if this was completely obvious.

“You’re just sittin’ on top of the ride. C’mon.” Wally tugged experimentally on Bertram’s arm, only for the park designer to jerk the limb back.

“Don’t touch me!” He yelled. “I cannot have you corrupted as well!” Wally stared at him before looking helplessly down at Joey and Henry.

“Has anyone seen Miss Benton?” Joey asked, glancing from employee to employee.

“Oh…Uh…” One ride mechanic grimaced, rubbing the back of their head. “She, uh, she’s kind…busy?”

“Busy…how?” Henry asked slowly.

A few minutes later, Henry, Joey, and a group of employees were standing in the balcony above Research and Development, staring down at the three employees gathered around the trashcan fire.

“Is that a trashcan fire?” Wally asked, peering past Henry. “Man, I haven’t seen one of those in ages!” Immediately, Lacie, Shawn, and Grant turned to stare at them. Their eyes had the glassy quality that came with being high on ink fumes, and both Lacie and Shawn had improvised weaponry in the form of a wrench and a pipe. Lacie also had a prop pipe stuck in her mouth. Grant peered curiously out from behind the other two, looking rather innocent and adorable. It was strange to think of a 40-year-old man as adorable.

“Well, if it isn’t the little devil darling,” Shawn growled. His accent sounded…different. Like he was trying to not sound Irish.

“This be no place for the likes of you.” Lacie slapped the wrench on the palm of her hand. She sounded like a cartoonish approximation of a pirate.

“Hi!” Grant waved, a goofy smile on his face. He sounded…more or less the same, if a bit more childish.

“Hey. No. He’s the enemy, we don’t wave at him.” Shawn turned and whispered.

“Okay!” Grant said brightly.

“Let me guess, they think they’re the Butcher Gang?” Henry lowered his voice, looking over at the ride mechanic who’d brought them over. The mechanic grimaced, nodding meekly.

“Hey, how’d you guys set that fire?” Wally asked. “I’m never allowed to set trashcan fires!”

“You’d end up burning down the whole studio if you tried.” Someone in the back grumbled.

“Would not!” Wally insisted with an adorably cartoonish pout.

“Aren’t you and Bendy part of the fire department?” Grant asked, tilting his head to the side. “I know you guys put out a fire one time.”

“Boris sets more fires than he puts out.” Joey chuckled. “But, yes, we were temporarily part of the fire department.” Shawn and Lacie rolled their eyes, moving away a little so that Grant could talk to Joey and Wally better.

“Your voice sounds funny, Bendy,” Grant announced.

“It does sound weird.” Shawn agreed, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not tryin’ to pull some kinda scam, are ya?”

“You know what’ll happen if you are.” Lacie kept slapping the wrench into her palm. Joey hesitated for a moment, then smiled.

“C’mon, fellas, I wouldn’t do that to you.” He put his hands up, slipping easily into the persona of Bendy. “We were just wondering if you could help us with a friend of ours.”

“A friend of yours?” Shawn raised an eyebrow.

“There’ll be a catch, I expect.” Lacie snorted.

“You wound me.” Joey put a hand to his heart, feigning an offended expression.

“We just want to get him down before he cracks his head open,” Wally added. “Pretty sure it’d be bad if he just died.”

“Why do you need our help?” Shawn asked, just as Grant said,

“Down from where?”

“He’s on top of a ride,” Joey explained. “A big ride! I can’t reach and you know Boris is just a big scaredy cat.”

“I can go high places!” Grant exclaimed, his whole face lighting up. “Let me help!”

“Hold on.” Shawn pulled Grant back. “What’s in it for us?”

“Well…” Joey stopped, a sly smile spreading across his face. “I might be able to get you all some good food. I still owe you for that burger, don’t I?” Shawn and Lacie exchanged a glance, then nodded to one another.

“Alright.” Shawn folded his arms.

“Show us where the bastard be.” Lacie put away her wrench. Henry blinked, looking over at Joey in awe. Joey just smiled.

It still took a bit to get Bertram down, even with Shawn, Lacie, and Grant’s “help”. The Butcher Gang hadn’t exactly been created to be competent entities. But they did eventually manage to get Bertram to the ground. Once they all came down from their high, all four were mortified. Especially Grant and Bertram. Grant immediately went to his office and refused to come out, while Bertram just sat in the break room, staring into the distance. Lacie joined him, more to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid than anything else. Shawn felt better once Wally started teasing him because it meant Shawn got to tease him back about all his “Boris” moments.

“You handled that really well,” Henry said once he and Joey got back to Joey’s office.

“You think so?” Joey smiled shakily, collapsing into his chair. “I was a little worried it would go bad.”

“You did great,” Henry assured him. Joey’s smile grew a bit more confident.

“Thank you,” He said. “You really have no idea how good it is to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.”

[clive-owen-and-the-knick]

Fan Fiction- The Knick  “Lucy’s Last Day at the Knick”

Lucy's Last Day at the Knickerbocker

Part 1

Lucy had decided. She would be leaving the Knick after today. Henry Robertson had offered to take her to the richest part of Long Island for the summer. It seemed that he had finally accepted her as a possible fiancée after all. No more tiny apartment in Manhattan. No more working 8 hours or more a day in the wards of the Knickerbocker Hospital, distributing medicine, helping in surgery, doing all the things she did every day. She would be free to be a woman of leisure, and she would have money. She would have a new life.

None of these things brought a smile to Lucy's face. With grim resoluteness she stood in the medicine room, collecting the correct prescriptions for the patients in the ward. She had decided this was her last day, but she had spoken to no one yet. She had arrived earlier than any of the other nurses.

Dr. Bertram Chickering Jr. abruptly appeared at the doorway, looking rattled.

Lucy flashed him a quick but muted smile over her shoulder, "Hi Bertie."

"Good morning, Nurse Elkins," Bertie sighed, his fingers massaging his temples.

"What's wrong?" Lucy asked instinctively, "What is it?"

Bertie looked at her, almost helplessly.

"Thack has decided to operate – on himself."

Lucy felt her heart freeze. It skipped a beat. "What? Why?"

Bertie walked farther into the medicine room, fiddling with the glass bottles lining the walls. "He's arrogant, pig-headed, and half out of his mind. He wants to prove surgery can be done without full anesthesia. He will have Dr. Gallinger localize an anesthetic in his spine, then use mirrors to do the surgery himself. All we can do is watch and assist. It's insane."

Lucy blinked, fell silent.

Bertie turned to her, hopeful for a moment, "Maybe you can talk to him. You'll be there, won't you? Thack would want you there. You are his chosen nurse on all major surgeries. I can't think of a more important one than this."

This was hard for Bertie to say this. Ever since he had heard of the 'relationship' which had occurred between Thack and Lucy, it has been hard to separate the two of them. One was a father figure, the other a girl he had once loved. But there it was – maybe Lucy could get Thack to think differently about this ridiculous surgery.

Lucy smiled sadly, "I won't be there, Bertie. Today is my last day. I'm leaving to go with Henry Robertson, to be his sweetheart, and maybe someday his wife."

Bertie froze, and stood for a while, taken aback. He was always terrible at camouflaging shock.

"Oh, I see. Well, I hope you both will be very happy."

Lucy turned away, partly so Bertie could not see the sickening look on her face. She detested Henry Robertson and what she had become to snare him. She had turned into a different person, someone she very much disliked. She wanted Bertie to remember her as she was before. Not this.

"I hope to make it work."

Bertie hesitated, watching her from behind as she picked the last of the bottles she needed and was resolutely turning away to go to the wards.

"We will miss you very much, Nurse Elkins," Bertie said with a lump in his throat, "Lucy. I mean it. You have been an amazing part of this place. It won't be the same without you."

Lucy turned, trying so hard to keep the tears from rolling. "Thank you, Bertie. I'll miss you the most."

Conscious of her heartfelt lie, Lucy quickly gave Bertie a kiss on the cheek. Then she turned down the corridor towards the wards.

Part 2

It was early afternoon and Lucy had done her best to avoid his office, but she could no longer wait. She had to go say goodbye to Dr. John Thackery.

It was a quiet day, unlike most of her days at the Knickerbocker. The hallway was deserted as she walked past the main admission desk, took a left and looked to see if Dr. Thackery was in his office.

Her heart was pounding she realized. Just taking the turn at the corridor to go near his office filled her with excitement and longing.

Damn this man!

The smell of the office itself filled her nostrils as she came to the door, which was slightly ajar. Oh, that smell – this place!

Lucy suddenly panicked. Had he left already? Was he even there? Without hesitation, she rapped on the door.

"Doctor Thackery?" she pushed the door open, hopeful.

Dr. John Thackery was at his desk seemingly staring at nothing, rheumy-eyed and sullen. He looked terrible. At the sight of the young nurse at the door he stood up and mechanically started to disrobe. It was inspection time.

Lucy was glad to see him but worried at how he looked. Taking advantage of his misunderstanding – she was carrying the inspection clipboard out of habit, after all - she quickly closed the door and pulled the privacy shade down with a yank.

Thackery hadn't said a word yet.

Lucy held the clipboard up to her chest tightly, "This is my last day, Doctor. I'm not here to examine you. I'm here to say goodbye."

Thackery slumped back in his chair, disheveled, mouth ajar.

"I need you for this surgery tomorrow, Nurse Elkins."

Lucy was almost heady as she breathed in the smell of the office – the smell of him. Thackery's office was so - Thackery. Each book, each instrument, each wall hanging had some significance. It had become his bedroom, his enclave, his sanctuary. It was such a masculine place, full of dark brown wood, leather, silver and glass.

Lucy moved towards his chair.

"You don't need me, Doctor. You never have."

"This is different."

"How is it different? I can't talk you out of this madness. Everything about you has been madness, from the first moment I arrived here. I fed off of it, like Bertie did, like all of us did. I can't be part of it anymore. The last thing I want to do is watch you cut yourself open."

"I have to operate, Lucy. A large section of my bowels are necrotic. I'm going to show everyone how it can be operated on – the right way. Without general anesthesia."

"I'm sorry about Abigail, John. I'm so sorry. I know you loved her, like I loved you."

Thackery gazed up at her silently; she was a beautiful vision in the early afternoon light as it came through the office window.

"And I'm sorry about your father, Lucy."

Lucy scoffed, "I'm not. But I've become something I loathe, Doctor. I'm not going to turn out like you wanted me to. You didn't set me free. You just condemned me is all."

Thackery winced at her words, then in pain, crumpling over a bit in his chair. With one pull he opened the desk drawer. Lucy looked down and saw the little glass vials which had been a part of her life ever since she rescued Thackery one fateful day at his apartment.

"I've been taking this the whole time you've been checking on me, Lucy."

"So. All this time."

Thackery shrugged, noncommittally.

Nonplussed, Lucy bit her lip, suppressing a ghost of a smile, "I would love to be with you again, John."

"Why would you want me?"

Lucy was starting to feel strong emotions rise in her and she set the clipboard down on the desk. She took one of the cocaine vials from the drawer, holding it in her hand.

"This poison."

"Lucy, the surgery is tomorrow. If you can't be there, tell me now. I'll ask Nurse Baker instead."

"Doctor," Lucy was suddenly awash with tears and she was on her knees, pleading, looking up at Thackery with his mussed black hair, those soft green eyes, "I wanted to say goodbye. My God, you look awful."

Thackery waved her hands away as she tried to straighten his hair and then her hands were inside his shirt, pulling it open. Her hands seemed everywhere at once. She frightened him with her eager intensity. Was he really the cause of this utter debauchment? Memories came back, drug-filled, crazed memories with this girl, this young girl. Hell, he was older than her father, a fact which she had frequently reminded him of during their previous trysts.

"Lucy…"

Thackery's eyes glanced at the closed door and the privacy flap. They were alone in silence, except for the sound of Lucy's kisses as she drifted down past the horrible, painful place in his belly that nipped and seared,seeking something else forbidden, moving down, down…

"Stop!" He pulled her up so he could look at her face, awash in tears. Her small fingers clung to him as strong as steel, one fist closed tightly around the vial of cocaine. Those vivid blue eyes looked at him with accusing passion and wild desperation. Did this young girl still really love him?

"Lucy, you're still a resourceful girl. Still so beautiful."

Lucy smiled gleefully, radiant, even with the tears that streamed down her cheeks. This is where she belonged! This was home, this was perfection, this was happiness! Pure madness.

"Just once more, please. Once more – for me to remember. Forever. Please John, please!"

She was pulling him now, down to the floor, behind the desk, partly hidden from view if someone were to enter the office now. What did he care, anyway? It was all lost! Abby was gone, his guts had turned to – how had Dr. Algernon put it – "The Badlands"? The new Knickerbocker had been burned to the ground. It seemed like the entire world had gone to hell. He no longer cared if people know about his habit. Even good ole' Dr. Zinberg knew the whole sordid tale. And here was this beautiful girl, this nurse, offering herself to him. Lucy, that resourceful, beautiful girl. What did he care, if only to give her one last final goodbye present?

Passion was just about to overtake him as he balanced on all fours over Lucy, hearing her whisper those words which so often filled their bedroom chatter – "Douse it!" - when a wave of nausea overwhelmed him so that he tore himself away from her arms. He fell back into his chair with a gasp and reached across the desk to a glass Turpentine bottle. He ripped open the lid and drank, shakily.

Lucy watched him from her position on the floor, the white nurses skirt hiked halfway up her thighs. This was not like before. There was a stench of death here, of sickness, not just addiction. She got to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster, smoothing out her dress.

Thackery watched her with a look of disappointment and guilt on his face. He owed her that much at least and he could not ever keep the agony away long enough to make it worth her while.

"Where will you go?" he asked as he cleared his throat, shifting in his in chair.

Lucy made a point of setting the vial of cocaine back in Thackery's desk drawer.

"Henry Robertson is going to make me a fine lady."

"Robertson?" Thackery snarled, despite himself.

He didn't hate Henry Robertson, but he didn't like him either. There was something always a little underhanded and veiled about the young man which kept him at a distance. He wasn't as obviously corrupt as Herman Barrow, for example, but the corruption was there, under a veneer of gentility.

Lucy saw his reaction instantly, and as if trying to please her father, she felt equally disappointed in his reaction, "I'd rather have had you."

Thackery smiled sarcastically and looked down at himself; crumpled in sickness, disheveled, exhausted, pale and weary.

Looking back up at Lucy, Thackery held out his hand and pulled her quickly to him, kissing her very gently on the lips for a long moment. Lucy was more than willing. She let the breath of him, the taste and smell of "her Doctor" wash over her for one last time. With her eyes closed, she felt the tears start to fall again. They had trickled onto Thackery's face as she slowly pulled away.

"Goodbye, Doctor."

"Goodbye, Nurse Elkins."

Hastily, Lucy snatched her clipboard, wiped the tears, and made for the door. She looked back over her shoulder one last time to see Thackery watching her.

She could see the tears in his eyes as well.

Part 3

It was early evening now and Lucy was exhausted.

Saying goodbye to so many, and to her 'old' self, had taken its toll. Her normally pulled back hair was starting to stray from its nurse's cap, falling in loose tendrils around her face.

Lucy was standing outside the front entrance of The Knick, and a small crowd of people were stopping to say goodbye as they left for the day. Even that simpering Nurse Ryan has briefly said farewell, with an undertone of seething jealously. Lucy smiled inside – she had taken Henry Robertson right out from beneath her. But what a hollow victory it was. It wasn't the man she even wanted. Herman Barrow said his farewells to her, acknowledging how her would miss her discreetness at the hospital. One less complicit soul, Lucy thought cuttingly.

"So, just another Tuesday at the Knick, as Thack might say,' Bertie announced as he stepped outside the main entrance of the Knickerbocker.

He was with Dr. Algernon Edwards, a man Lucy had spoken to sporadically throughout her time here. She still felt wary of him, but his gentle and assertive nature had gradually grown to make him more than 'a black man' in her Southern eyes. He was a skilled surgeon, even rivaling Dr. Thackery at times. And he certainly knew about her feelings for Thackery.

Lucy's crowd of well-wishers had finally started to disperse, and Bertie and Edwards came up to her together.

"Well, this is it," Lucy said in her quiet drawl.

Her eyes looked across the front of the hospital. They strayed to the far corner where she used to park her blue bicycle. Her heart pinched a moment as she dreamily reminisced about a warm night a year ago, when Thackery had stood there, his long, fingers pushing her bicycle back and forth in the fading summer light. How she had flirted with him then! That was one of her treasured memories which she let play repeatedly in her mind on restless nights.

"I'm sure you'll be happy, Nurse Elkins, and we appreciate all the work you've done over this past year," Edwards chimed in, rather formally.

Lucy just smiled; her voice suddenly caught. Was she really saying goodbye to the best part of herself, leaving it all behind? This was more like funeral dirge than a parting of ways.

Bertie watched her, somewhat abashedly, "Did you get to say goodbye to everyone?"

Lucy knew what he meant.

"Yes, I did. "

Lucy threw a look over her shoulder, longingly letting her gaze settle at Dr. Thackery's window. She knew exactly which one it was. She used to wait out here at night, watching for the good doctor to leave his office so she might catch a glimpse of him before he boarded a handsom cab to take him to that sordid Chinese opium den on Mott Street.

Lucy turned back to the two men, who seemed to view her rather uncomfortably. What were they both thinking, she wondered. The tears which has been rising to her blue eyes all day started to come again, but this time she held them back as best she could.

"Please look after him for me, if you can," she choked out, knowing how romantic and ridiculous it sounded.

Bertie's eyes shifted to the ground, "We'll do our best. But you know with Thack, he only seems to be happy when he gets his own way."

Algernon patted Lucy's arm paternally, "Goodbye, Nurse Elkins. Take care."

"Goodbye, Doctors."

Lucy took her bag, and all her personal items which she was carrying in a small case. With one final look, she turned and walked down the main entryway from the Knickerbocker hospital. Out into the streets to a new life.

From inside his office window, Dr. John Thackery watched Lucy Elkins retreat from his view in the dim evening light. She looked very proud, but the tilt of her head betrayed her sadness.

What a loss it was, Thack thought. My beautiful, resourceful Lucy.

What else did he have to lose now?

Thack settled into his doctor's couch, making it a bed for the night. Tomorrow would be the day he would show the world how to handle a surgery like his own.

Nothing left to lose.

[peonymoss]

Mansfield Park: Volume II Chapters 1-5

(or chapters 19-23, or, The Party’s Over)

II-1

Further proof that this play was a bad idea: when the news comes that Sir Thomas is in the house, the first reaction of his children — all of them — is not “Hurrah! Father’s home at last!” but “Oh ——— .” Dryly amusing to see Tom and Edmund finally united — a look and a few words is all it takes — and poor Rushworth left behind, glad that Sir Thomas is back, but not quite part of the family yet. And Maria walking off without even answering his question — unnecessarily rude.

Yates thinking that the rehearsal will pick up again after tea — even “having never been with those who thought much of parental claims, or family confidence” —  does he not understand that Sir Thomas has been away for almost two years,and that welcoming him back is going to take precedence over a rehearsal? Dude. Seriously.

Fanny seeing a new side of Sir Thomas — and seeing that she really does matter to him: “my little Fanny.”  We never hear anything about the Bertram side of the family. Is he an only child?

This whole scene in the drawing room is hilarious. Mrs. Norris INTERRUPTING Sir Thomas, in the middle of his telling them about his journey, to tell him he wants some soup; Sir Thomas discovering the theater — and his room (his full-sized version of Fanny’s East room) — and stepping out on the stage opposite Yates. Rushworth bursting out about Henry Crawford’s height (poor fellow, he knows something’s wrong but he doesn’t have the intellect to understand his unease or put it into words). Yates utterly failing to catch the hint from anywhere and yammering on about the play. And poor Rushworth — holding on to Sir Thomas’s good opinion by saying scarcely anything, but only “a little longer.”

Behind the cut for length:

II-2

At least Edmund 1. comes to his father to 2. fess up 3. first thing in the morning 4. without trying to minimize his own lapses in judgment or 5. completely pin the blame on everything else while 6. making clear that Fanny was consistent.

Poor Sir Thomas, trying to “forget how much he had been forgotten himself.” (He has something in common with Fanny; she knows what it’s like to feel forgotten.)  He’s “more willing to believe they felt their error than to run the risk of investigation”. Hmmmm. He’s an active, diligent man, but in this area of life he’s willing to let himself avoid seeking out the truth. And though he tries very hard to keep her to the point, Mrs. Norris manages to evade him in the end.

II-3

Interesting conversation between Edmund and Fanny. Edmund mentions how very quiet the evenings are now; Fanny says she’s not bored, she likes listening to Sir Thomas talking about the West Indies, “but then I am unlike other people I dare say.” Edmund offers her a compliment in a teasing way and then tells her how much Sir Thomas is pleased with her. But those compliments about Fanny’s countenance and complexion and figure — how much of those are from Sir Thomas, and how many are from Edmund? 

...And then he starts talking about Mary’s opinion of Fanny, and how observant Mary is (though he’s not wrong). Fanny changes the subject, and we get some funny stuff from Edmund about Rushworth:

“[Sir Thomas] must like [Rushworth] less after to-morrow's visit, for we shall be five hours in his company. I should dread the stupidity of the day, if there were not a much greater evil to follow--the impression it must leave on Sir Thomas. He cannot much longer deceive himself. I am sorry for them all, and would give something that Rushworth and Maria had never met.”

(And this is the match Mrs. Norris takes such pride in!)

“Sir Thomas was satisfied; too glad to be satisfied, perhaps, to urge the matter quite so far as his judgment might have dictated to others.” Once again, in this area of his life he’s all too willing to take the easy way, to let himself believe everything’s all right when it isn’t.

Interesting that Maria has “pledged herself anew to Sotherton”: to the property, not to Rushworth himself. “In all the important preparations of the mind she was complete: being prepared for matrimony by an hatred of home, restraint, and tranquillity; by the misery of disappointed affection, and contempt of the man she was to marry.” Oooof.

“Two bridesmaids”: was Fanny one of them? Aunt Norris “tries to cry”: nobody’s overcome with joy at this wedding.

II.4

So Fanny’s growing up into a pretty young woman, and now she’s the only young woman at Mansfield. (And Mrs. Norris is still sending her, instead of a servant, on errands.)

"by the easiest self-deceit”: Mrs. Grant, too.

What an interesting sort-of friendship springs up between Mary and Fanny. Why does Fanny keep going? It’s not just the demands of Good Manners; where does her “fascination” come from? Is it just being around someone with whom she has something in common, but who’s so different from anyone else she’s known?

It’s unfortunate that when Fanny goes off on her more poetic, thoughtful flights, Mary doesn’t even attempt to follow along or even pay attention.

Mary, meanwhile, has been spoiled for the idea of marrying solely for money: “... nothing worse than a tete-a-tete with the person one feels most agreeable in the world.” She still wants money and influence, though, so she wants even more than she did before.

“... to the credit of the lover's understanding, be it stated, that [Edmund] did not by any means consider Fanny as the only, or even as the greater gainer by such a friendship.” Edmund thinks of himself as Mary’s lover at this point <SPOILER> but it’s a nice touch that the text itself doesn’t specify that.</SPOILER>

“A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of. It certainly may secure all the myrtle and turkey part of it.” The “myrtle and turkey” part doesn’t get quoted as often, but I think it makes the first sentence even funnier.

Edmund, Mary’s not kidding about the money and the distinction. How many times does she have to say it? Self-deceit indeed.

II.5

Lady Bertram is so benignly self-absorbed. “Why should Mrs.Grant ask Fanny?” Edmund knows how to manage her, though.

Poor Fanny. This should be such a happy occasion for her — she’s growing up, she’s being invited to dine out — and there’s no mother or sister to be glad for her and enjoy the preparations with her, no cousins to do it in their place, and no aunts who will do it in their place. But there is an aunt who’s downright angry that Fanny should have a happy occasion coming up.

Sir Thomas puts Mrs. Norris in her place! Take that!

Edmund starts off praising Fanny and noticing her dress “I like those glossy spots” but alas for Fanny’s feelings - “Has not Miss Crawford a gown something the same?”

Oh, wait — Henry shows up? Great. Stupid troublemaker.

So much for “being the lowest and last” — Fanny’s the female guest of honor.

(And even though Edmund’s being friendly with Henry, Fanny’s not even thinking about Edmund’s judgment. She’s confident in her dislike and distrust of Henry. She’s seen what she’s seen, and she knows that Edmund is fallible.)

Edmund’s matter of business with Dr. Grant — ordination, perhaps?

Henry’s “...significant smile, which made Fanny quite hate him...”

<SPOILER> “I think my friend Julia knows better than to entertain her father with Mr. Yates.” OH yes.</SPOILER>

“In my opinion....” Bravo, Fanny! 

“Dr. Grant is giving Bertram instructions about the living he is to step into so soon.” Henry assumes that they are talking about money, not the spiritual work of pastoring the flock, and regrettably he’s probably correct. He also is assuming that Edmund will hire a vicar and live at Mansfield. Like Mary, he assumes that the life of a clergyman is a life of ease.

Mary’s anger at Edmund and at herself, and her resolution to no longer let him influence her feelings, reminds me of Mary’s anger at Henry. At least Mary’s not dragging someone else into her anger by marrying someone she doesn’t love just out of spite.

So some themes: Fanny’s coming into her own. And Sir Thomas... well, this is twice now that we see him accept easy answers to questions instead of searching after painful, difficult, but truthful answers.

Edmund goes 5 chapters without seriously letting anyone down. And he may be constantly comparing her to Mary, but he’s noticing Fanny too.

And so are the Crawfords. Both of them.

[fangirlinglikeabus]

Your Hand Feels So Grand In Mine - Chapter 1

Summary: On the day of her eighteenth birthday, Fanny is shocked to find the name of a woman on her wrist. At first, she ignores it, but things get a bit more complicated when Mary Crawford herself shows up at Mansfield Park. A soulmate AU feat. racebending. Warnings for internalised homophobia, canon typical mistreatment of Fanny. 

can also be found on fanfiction.net and ao3

Don't take my arm too much

Don't keep your hand in mine

Your hand feels so grand in mine

People will say we're in love

- ‘People Will Say We’re In Love’, from Oklahoma!

It was commonly known, at the time, that upon the event of someone reaching their eighteenth birthday, two - or more, in some, rarely talked about, cases - signatures appeared on their wrists. One had the name of their soulmate, the person best suited for them in life, romantically or otherwise (again, these latter people were never talked about, except for when the name was of someone of the same gender. It truly is amazing, the number of truths thought inconvenient until they suddenly become useful). The other had the name of the person they would, or had already, convinced themselves was their soulmate, whether consciously or no. Of course, as is the way of these things, no one ever knew which was which, except by their own inference, or, if they were lucky, events which exposed one or the other. Many young people, eager to meet their soulmate, married quickly, only to discover that there had been a mistake; that their new spouse was not, in fact, the right of the persons on their wrists. This rarely impeded marriages for long; a soulmate may be a person's perfect match, but many imperfect ones are often made with some success. It is a simple fact that a marriage will work if it is formed with love and respect. Even marriages where those values were absent could often function if the two members showed enough skill at avoiding one other.

Henry Crawford was somewhat of an outlier. On his eighteenth birthday, only one name formed, on his left wrist; Henry had never set much store by soulmates, or really, truly falling in love outside of an idle flirtation, and so, accordingly, he had never and would never become so deeply in love that he could possibly believe that person and him to be destined. Unless, of course, the object of his love was, truly, the one most suited to him in all the world. Even then, the name was faded, barely legible unless you chose to look closely, which Henry didn't. His sister Mary, on the other hand…well, Mary looked very carefully indeed at things which could further her own self-interest, and considered her brother's soulmate to fall squarely into that category. She spent two years carefully studying the words on her brother's wrist, memorising the script, the name.

So her own eighteenth birthday came as quite a shock. On her right wrist was Mary Crawford, scrawled carelessly in large, elegant letters (she laughed silently, and knew this to be the false name - she may very well convince herself, or have convinced herself in the past, that she was the only person good for her, but it was unlikely to be true. It faded, but remained visible, etched onto her dark brown skin). On her left was a familiar, small script - almost as if its owner feared irritating someone by taking up too much paper. It was much bolder than it was on her brother, but still…she had looked at it for long enough in that state to recognise it on sight.

Fanny Price.

Mary stared at her wrist absently for a moment, thought briefly what a shame it was that she and Henry were predestined to be rivals, then resolved to start wearing longer sleeves. After all, no matter how little she cared about the issue of having a female soulmate herself, it wouldn't do to scandalise society quite that much. A fortune of twenty thousand pounds can do many things, but it is not so strong an incentive that people would forget such a thing, and welcome such a person into their homes.

Far away and several years later, Fanny Price started crying.

Written on one of her wrists, in the perfectly formed writing which was so familiar to her, was the name Edmund Bertram.

That was enough of a problem - the necessity of hiding it from the Bertrams did not exactly please her - but it was not the reason for her tears.

The other wrist said Mary Crawford.

Steps on the stairs! Fanny quickly pulled the sleeves of her nightdress down to hide the words, in case whoever it was chose to enter the room suddenly.

A knock on the door. A quiet, "Fanny?" Of course; who else but Edmund would have wasted their time on her? She called for him to wait, and quickly got dressed, making sure to wear a thick dress, even though the July sun was already shining through the windows. One which was most likely to hide her secret.

Edmund was standing there, neatly dressed (of course he was; Edmund made it a careful habit to be awake and ready for the day - and above all, tidy - before anyone else) and wearing a concerned expression on his handsome, pale face. Fanny's heart swelled, but as it did so, her left wrist (the one which she was so aware had his name on it) began to itch, and so she forced the feeling down and smiled at him, trying to ignore, as she did so, the few tears still making their way down her face.

"Well, ah," Edmund looked embarrassed, "I was curious as to whether you would be prepared to show your soulmates to any of your family? Of course, you are not obligated to...to show your aunts, or your other cousins, but perhaps..?"

The implication of his question hung in the air between them. Perhaps you would show me?

Here, Fanny had a problem. She truly loved her cousin (the name had forced her to acknowledge that as fact), but she felt, just as truly, that she could not show him either wrist.

"I-I would really rather not, cousin Edmund," she made herself say, and tried not to notice the disappointment in his expression, or the voice in her head that sounded like Mrs Norris - always Mrs Norris! - telling her that she was selfish, that Edmund deserved to know, and that she was being ungrateful. Alas, she was not successful - the simple refusal of her cousin's request had wracked poor Fanny so much that she began to cry again. Panic crossed Edmund's face, just for a moment, before a more soothing expression took its place.

"Fanny, I should apologise. It was wrong for me to ask something so personal of you, especially when I haven't even showed you either of my names. Come, compose yourself, and once you feel prepared, I shall escort you down to breakfast."

Soon enough, the door opened on Edmund again, and Fanny, the fresh tears still drying on her face and her eyes turned slightly pink from crying, took his arm. He served as a calming presence, even without speaking, and Fanny soon felt as close to her normal self as she could, with the knowledge that the name of a woman sat on her right wrist.

The calm was soon gone away again, for the rest of the Bertram family - apart from, mercifully, her uncle, who, along with her cousin Tom, was in Antigua for the moment - despite their usual dismissiveness of Fanny, were suddenly crowding her, demanding she give up her secret. No matter how much she quietly refused, they continued to pester until the poor girl was quite in tears again. Edmund made an attempt to stop them, perhaps slightly tempered by his own curiosity, but it came to no avail. Maria and Julia chose a simple method, asking the same question over, and when there was a failure to answer that, making angry demands. Tom, if he had been there, would have no doubt joined them; there was something to be grateful about in his absence. Lady Bertram, when finally appealed to by her children, seemed barely to understand what was going on, so distracted she had been, but as soon as her children gave a (strongly biased, of course) account, she made an offer of whatever presents Fanny would like if she would only show them, and really, whatever the names were, they could not be so very bad. Throughout all this, Fanny stayed silent, only made increasingly miserable by the questioning. It was amazing how much noise so few people could make, and she was almost tempted to give in. But fear - a greater fear than the consequences of her refusal - held her back.

"If you do not tell us," Maria said, more petulantly than could be thought possible for a young woman of twenty-one, "then when our father comes home, we shall have to tell him that you have been keeping secrets from us, and then he will force you to tell us."

Fanny was terrified of her uncle; Maria knew this, and spoke hoping - correctly, it seemed - that on weighing her uncle seeing her wrists against the rest of the family doing the same, the latter was the lesser fear. Fanny, with shaking hands, began to roll up her sleeves.

The Bertrams craned to see the names. Edmund started, slightly, on seeing his own written in bold black.

For one brief, horrible moment, everyone seemed to freeze - even Lady Bertram, who usually showed so little interest in anything not related to herself or her beloved Pug.

"Oh, how boring," Maria complained. "They are only platonic soulmates."

Julia frowned at her sister. "Are you certain, Maria? How can you be sure?"

She scoffed. "Is it not obvious? Why, with one of the names female, and the other that of our very own brother, how could there possibly be any hint of romance?"

And then the Bertrams' fleeting interest with their poorer cousin was gone, and as breakfast was served it seemed the entire issue was forgotten, the only indication to the contrary being the way Julia's eyes rested on Fanny for longer than usual, a flicker of curiosity igniting them. But for Fanny, whose mind was always ready to be filled with worry, and who, after all, was now fully, uncomfortably aware that her interest in Edmund was romantic, it sat there in her mind, as the days moved by ever so slowly. Minor, day to day worries, usually at the forefront of her mind, quickly vanished, but Mary Crawford, sitting as it did on her wrist, remained. Fanny grew pale; she spoke to no-one, not even her beloved Edmund. If the Bertrams had deigned to pay attention to her, they would have no doubt of the cause. As it was, the world moved much as it usually did, with only the insignificance of the change in Fanny's mood to affect it. And, inevitably, given some time, and the lack of suspicion shown by the family, she calmed. Edmund's name was a worry, of course, but one which she could force herself to ignore; though it caused her pain, it was a bearable pain, within the realm of acceptable human experience. And as for the other name, well, she wasn't leaving her home, and what was the likelihood that this Mary Crawford would come to her?

"A parsonage?" Mary asked incredulously. "In the countryside?"

"I am afraid so," Henry said, his words laced with faux-solemnity. "I am sure I do not know how we will cope! The savagery of it all! Although, of course, you would not have a problem at all if you had simply…gotten along with our uncle. Is it really so hard for you to like him, Mary?"

"Well I suppose it shall be nice to see our sister after such a long time away from each other," Mary continued, rather pointedly ignoring her brother. They had had similar conversations all throughout the time they had lived with Admiral Crawford. Nothing would come of it if she chose to argue; she could not convince him of the man's wickedness any more than he could convince her of his virtue. "At the very least, there will no doubt be some rich eldest son nearby, to flirt with."

"Unfortunately not," Henry said, pouring himself a glass of port from the decanter sat on the table. "An associate of mine has informed me - after I enquired, knowing your partiality to such men - that the gentleman in question has gone off to Antigua with his father. A shame, but I am sure you will cope; I hear his brother is a respectable young man."

Mary sighed. "I hold no stock by "respectable young men", Henry. Second sons yield no interest for me."

"Not even the second son of a baronet, as I am told is the case here? Ah, well. I suppose you shall simply have to waste away, without an eldest son to enjoy."

"You seem to think me to be so exceedingly shallow that my sole focus is men. I shall tell you now, Henry, that it is entirely untrue. Why, I am tempted to enjoy myself despite his absence, just to spite you!"

"Mary," Henry said, taking a large swig of his drink, "please believe me when I tell you that nothing would make me happier. Now, shall you write to our sister, or shall I?"

"Mrs Grant informs us that her brother and sister, children of her mother's second marriage, will be joining her and Mr Grant in the parsonage," Edmund said, with an uncharacteristic nervousness underlying his words.

"I am sure they will be people of a most agreeable sort," Fanny said quietly. "But, cousin, since I am certain to be far too busy to join you in entertaining our guests-"

"They are two young people by the names of Henry and Mary Crawford," Edmund said quickly. "Perhaps Mrs Norris and my mother would permit you to join the rest of us, rather than running chores? They have been invited to dine with us, anyway, so you will not miss them entirely."

Fanny said nothing; all of a sudden, she was very pale, and her hands shook slightly where they rested on the table.

"Miss Crawford is one of the names on your wrists. Perhaps it would be best if you became acquainted with the woman who could potentially become your closest friend."

"If you…" Fanny's throat was suddenly dry. She gulped. "If you think it to be best, Edmund."

"Fanny, of course I think it to be best," Edmund said gently. "But this is for your benefit, not mine. Sometimes I feel as if, well, as if you have no friends outside of myself - indeed, you have perhaps had no opportunity make friends, as sheltered as you are here, and…perhaps you would enjoy the benefit of Miss Crawford's company."

Enjoying the pleasure of Miss Crawford's company was exactly what terrified Fanny, of course. But Edmund was not to know that, nor would she wish him to know.  Besides, she could not wholly avoid her if they were coming to dine - even in her nervousness she was able to admit that to starve herself would be a silly thing to do, solely to avoid a person. And it was Edmund requesting this of her; his younger cousin had never been known to refuse anything he suggested.  And so it was that she found herself sitting with the rest of the family, not so patiently waiting for the arrival of Mr and Miss Crawford, along with their half sister and her husband.

"Oh, do stop fidgeting, Fanny!" Mrs Norris snapped. Fanny flinched.

"Yes, Fanny, do stop fidgeting," Lady Bertram echoed absentmindedly. "We must give these young people a good first impression of life here."

"I hardly think that the Crawfords will be so absorbed with ideas of propriety as to care about one of our number moving as slightly as Fanny has done," Edmund said calmly.

The clock ticked by.  

"Oh, when shall they arrive?" Maria exclaimed loudly. She stood up and began to pace about the room. "It is not polite to be late for a dinner engagement."

After an age, one of the servants stepped into the room to announce "Dr and Mrs Grant, Mr and Miss Crawford."

Mrs Grant came in first, greeting them all, thanking them for their hospitality, and apologising profusely for their lateness.

"We would have arrived here this half an hour gone, except Mary, I am afraid, took so long getting ready-"

Mary cut her off. "I find it infinitely preferable to be late, and well dressed, than on time, nay, even early, and an embarrassment to rich young women everywhere." She smiled, and in her expression was something which tempted even the most hard hearted to forgive any transgression.

Edmund cleared his throat and stood up. "Miss Crawford. Mr Crawford," he said, bowing to both of them in turn. "A pleasure to meet you both. I am Edmund Bertram. May I present my mother Lady Bertram, my aunt Mrs Norris, my sisters Miss Maria Bertram and Miss Julia Bertram, and, of course, our cousin Miss Fanny Price."

Mary glanced at Henry, to see if she could glean any expression from his countenance. Nothing. She smiled again, more subdued this time. "It is a pleasure to meet you all." Her eyes rested on Fanny.

Something about the way Mary was looking at her unnerved Fanny. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Fanny!" Mrs Norris snapped again. She smiled apologetically at their guests. "You must excuse Miss Price; she is but a poor dependant, tragically uneducated until we brought her here, eight years ago. Please," she gestured to the chairs, "will not you sit? There is some time yet until the food will be prepared."

Mary graciously seated herself, as did her brother. All the while, her eyes remained fixed on Fanny, who was doing her best to avoid staring back.

Throughout the conversation, throughout dinner and the time after it, neither spoke to the other, but every so often, Fanny would give into temptation and stare back. There was something compelling in Mary's eyes. They seemed to sparkle at some amusement unknown to any but herself, and, perhaps, someone else too, if only they would draw closer.

Fanny looked away, blushing.

"Are you quite pleased, Henry?" Mary asked on their way back to the parsonage. They walked far ahead of Doctor and Mrs Grant; the two of them walked far slower due to the good doctor's unfortunate affliction of gout, and in fact wouldn't have walked at all if it hadn't been suggested in some quarter due to the pleasantness of the evening.

"Oh, yes, quite pleased," Henry affirmed. "With Maria and Julia both. In fact, I found the company so pleasing that I have been considering extending my visit."

"Oh?" Mary raised an eyebrow. "And what about dear Miss Fanny Price?"

He laughed. "You noticed that, did you?"

"You seem to think," she shot back, "that I am somehow oblivious of all about you. I cannot think why that is, since I usually find myself knowing you better than you know yourself."

"I suppose that I have never put much effort into hiding it," Henry said flippantly. He was silent for a moment. "I have decided," he said eventually, "that I should rather like to have some fun with Miss Price. She seems awfully boring. And who better to make her more…interesting than Mr Henry Crawford? I am sure a girl of her standing will fall at least slightly in love with someone who shows that she is his "soulmate"." He laughed.

Mary said nothing. Henry was foolish to think he would be safe from love forever, especially if he chose to flirt so blatantly with his soulmate.

Now, what about her own connection to Fanny Price? Mary rubbed absentmindedly at her left wrist. It could, she supposed, be rather diverting to fall in love.

"I am disappointed in you, Fanny," Edmund said solemnly, as they sat, secluded, in the old East Room Fanny had made her own. "I would have thought you to be more keen to befriend Mary Crawford."

"I am afraid that I am much too shy for that," Fanny said quietly.

"Well, in that case, I shall organise it so that the two of you spend some time together," Edmund declared. "It was no doubt the amount of people in the room that made it difficult for you." Fanny found that she couldn't disagree. A part of her still hoped that she wouldn't fall in love with Mary, that she didn't even have the capacity to love a woman in that way. But she couldn't bring herself to believe it, not quite, when the way Mary had looked at her still rested on her mind.

[thebookrat]

I mentioned earlier in AIA that there's a lot of discussion of Mansfield Park this time around, much of which is making me look at the book in a new light. Here today we have another such piece, from Eliza Shearer, who's taking a look at the darker aspects of the story — and how they may reflect Jane, herself. Check it out below and let us know your thoughts in the comments! And make sure to keep an eye on this year's Austen in August mega prize packs, because Eliza's book, Miss Darcy's Beaux, shows up in 3 of them!

Mansfield Park, or the dark side of Jane Austen

It is a truth universally acknowledged that, while all Jane Austen admirers admit they enjoy Pride and Prejudice, dissent appears at the mention of Mansfield Park. The Mansfield Park protagonist, Fanny Price, who is arguably Austen’s least popular heroine, has no small share of the blame. Granted, Fanny’s love story with Edmund is a far cry from Elizabeth and Darcy’s in Pride and Prejudice. However, I have revisited the novel a few times over the years, most recently while writing Miss Price’s Decision, a variation with spirited Susan Price as main character, and I have learned to appreciate its depth. Jane Austen was in a darker, more mature place when she wrote Mansfield Park, and it shows. Fanny may not be a favourite Austen girl, but some of her other characters are amongst Austen’s best. Quite a few of them seem to be distorted versions of some of the archetypes we see in her other novels. Here are the ones that got me thinking the most.

The good girl gone bad

Austen’s novels are full of good girls that have a soft spot for naughty, undeserving gentlemen. Be it Marianne Dashwood’s ill-judged love for Willoughby, Emma Woodhouse’s flirtation with the unreliable Frank Churchill or Elizabeth Bennet’s passing attraction for Wickham, it is a bit of a theme in Austen’s novels. Maria Bertram, however, is a different story. Unlike her Austen sisters, she is utterly disgraced in the process. Even foolish Lydia is saved by matrimony. The only other Austen character with a worse fate is Sense and Sensibility’s Eliza, Mr Knight’s first love. The difference is that, where Eliza is only mentioned in passing, in Mansfield Park we watch Maria’s seduction and downfall in horror, and in real-time.

The dangerous rogue

We can’t talk about Maria without mentioning Henry Crawford, perhaps the most dangerous man in Austen’s novels, and here’s why. First of all, unlike the Wickhams and Willoughbys of this world, he is not particularly good-looking. Women don’t feel they have to protect themselves upon meeting him. Secondly, Henry Crawford’s behaviour is much more twisted. When he sets out to make the Bertram sisters fall in love with him, he doesn’t act out of greed. Instead, it is a sport for him, because his morals are entirely corrupted. Unlike Wickham and Willoughby, who are shown to have a price, Crawford is financially independent and can afford to move on untouched.

The insolent girl

In Pride and Prejudice, Lady Catherine de Bourgh calls Elizabeth Bennet “insolent girl,” but the reader knows that her ladyship could not be more wrong. Elizabeth is witty and doesn’t mince her words, but she isn’t insolent as such. She simply refuses to let an awful woman who has no respect for her or her family to tell her what to do. However, in Mansfield Park, Austen shows us what a genuinely insolent girl looks like. On the surface, Mary Crawford is lovely and sweet, but, like her brother, she is corrupted to the core, and her flippant comments, double entendres and philosophy of life truly fit the definition of insolent. Lady Bertram would have a heart attack if she were ever to meet her.

The self-absorbed mother

Austen’s novels have a fair share of dysfunctional mother figures. From Mrs Bennet’s embarrassing meddling to Mrs Dashwood’s cheerful impracticality or Maria Musgrove’s hypochondria, there are many instances of mothers who fall short of setting a good example for their children. However, Mansfield Park’s Lady Bertram is perhaps the most egotistical and indolent mother of them all. She is so self-centred that she does not care a jolt about her daughters’ education. Her pug is much more important to her than her four children. It is perhaps no wonder that the seeds of Maria’s elopement are planted when she is supposedly in her mother’s care.

The callous connection

Austen novels contain a fair few unpleasant relatives. Fanny Dashwood, Elinor and Marianne’s selfish and scheming sister-in-law in Sense and Sensibility, and Pride and Prejudice’s Lady Catherine de Bourgh are excellent examples of meddling, manipulative women who want everyone to bend to their wishes. However, nasty Aunt Norris is in a league of her own. Like others, she is tight with her money and prepared to do everything necessary to increase her fortune at the cost of others, but you only need to re-read the opening of the novel and see how cruelly she treats little Fanny Price to realise that she is truly heartless.

The too-grave hero

Mansfield Park’s Edmund Bertram is handsome and generous, with a heart of gold and a strong moral compass. However, as a hero, he is somewhat defective. He takes himself too seriously, has little to no sense of humour and behaves like a much older man. On paper, that sounds dangerously like Mr Collins. But if you think that Edmund’s seriousness is due to his profession, think again. Just compare him to Edward Ferrars or Henry Tilney, who are also men of the cloth. Worst of all, Edmund spends most of the novel in love with another woman. If you think about it, it is quite extraordinary and quite unlike the behaviour of Austen’s other leading men. No wonder he never makes it to the list of Most Adored Austen heroes.

The too-timid heroine

I have a soft spot for Austen’s introverts. Persuasion’s Anne Elliot is one of my favourite heroines, and the protagonist of my first Austen variation, Miss Darcy’s Beaux, is Darcy’s little sister, Georgiana, a very shy young woman. However, Fanny Price’s timidity and stubborn silence make her passive in the extreme. During most of Mansfield Park, Fanny spends her time as an anxious, trembling little mouse, running errands for bullying Aunt Norris and selfish Lady Bertram. Compare her behaviour with Anne Elliot’s. Anne is also quiet and unassuming, but in the midst of a crisis, like the events on the Cobb, she is resolute and capable of drawing admiration. No wonder that poor Fanny is not as popular as other Austen heroines. What are your thoughts about Mansfield Park’s characters? Can you think of any other similarities with characters in other Austen stories? Eliza Shearer is an author of Austen continuations and variations. A member and regular contributor of Austen Authors, she also writes about Jane Austen in her blog. Her Austeniana series so far includes Miss Darcy’s Beaux, which tells Georgina Darcy’s story, and the upcoming Miss Price’s Decision, with spirited Fanny Price as protagonist.

Click here to return to the master list of Austen in August posts!

via The Book Rat

[bethanydelleman]

Jane Austen Charted #10

Marriage Criteria Over Time for Mary Crawford

X Axis: Timepoints

Y Axis: Marriage criteria importance percentage

I have used “integrity” here to encompase morals, principles, honesty, etc.

Justification:

We know that Mary is attracted to Edmund’s strength of character (much as Henry is to Fanny), “There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity, which Miss Crawford might be equal to feel, though not equal to discuss with herself.” (Ch 7) but Mary is still very much hung up on the younger brother and lack of wealth thing, which makes her hesitate and she won’t even admit to herself that she likes those qualities (until later)

We know in Chapter 30 that Mary has actually resolved on accepting Edmund, “she was now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither brother nor sister many months longer.” Which is why she greets him so warmly when he returns to Mansfield. However, he does not work up the courage to propose before she leaves for London.

Once Mary is back in London, she seems to become less sure. We know that Edmund didn’t manage to talk to her alone to propose, which I feel like Mary could have contrived if she really wanted. Mary’s letters from London focus primarily on Edmund’s drop-dead gorgeousness.

Mary also has thing strange paradoxical thing, where she likes Edmund’s integrity and honesty, but what she really likes is him doing something against his morals for her, “for I never knew such exquisite happiness in any other. His sturdy spirit to bend as it did! Oh! it was sweet beyond expression.” and yet in the same conversation she praises how trustworthy the family is: “You all give me a feeling of being able to trust and confide in you, which in common intercourse one knows nothing of.” So I guess what she really wants is a person with strong morals who is only willing to give way to her?

And then in the end, Mary has learned something, though perhaps not the whole lesson: for Mary, though perfectly resolved against ever attaching herself to a younger brother again, was long in finding among the dashing representatives, or idle heir-apparents, who were at the command of her beauty, and her £20,000, any one who could satisfy the better taste she had acquired at Mansfield, whose character and manners could authorise a hope of the domestic happiness she had there learned to estimate, or put Edmund Bertram sufficiently out of her head.

I do wonder what would have happened if Mary and Edmund did marry. It seems pretty inevitable until the affair breaks them up. Would Mary have changed as the narrator suggests Experience might have hoped more for any young people so circumstanced, and impartiality would not have denied to Miss Crawford’s nature that participation of the general nature of women which would lead her to adopt the opinions of the man she loved and respected as her own or would she have ended up bitter and thinking she had sacrificed far too much for love?

This is my last chart for now because I've run out of clever charting ideas. Suggest some more if you want to see something charted!

[queenofcats17]

The Ink Demonth 2

Today is Growth. So it’s Joey and Bertie time~ We’re gonna have some emotional growth!

Featuring my Joey very prominently

---------------------------------------------

Bertram had never expected to see Joey Drew again. After Henry had freed the former employees from the studio, most had gone their separate ways. Some still kept in touch from what Bertram understood, but most of them had tried to get on with their lives and put the events of the studio behind them. Certainly, no one was trying to keep in contact with the man who’d done this to them. Lacie still kept in touch with Thomas, Shawn, and Grant, which by extension meant they also heard from Allison, Wally, and Jack. Bertram lived with Lacie now, in a little house in the suburbs of Milwaukee, close to his sister and her husband. He didn’t really work anymore, although Lacie had taken a job at a mechanic shop to keep herself busy. She liked staying busy. 

In any case, Bertram had never expected to see Joey Drew again. Not after everything that had happened. Not after nearly over a year. Which was why Bertram had been so surprised to look up from his book and see Joey standing on the sidewalk leading up to the porch. He immediately tensed at seeing the former studio head, ready for a fight. Part of him expected things to go the way they had the last time. Joey would speak sweet words of poison and Bertram would end up hurt or worse, drawn into the tangled web of Joey’s plans. 

But Joey looked smaller somehow, less sure of himself. There were dark circles under his eyes. The clothes he was wearing looked like hand-me-downs, judging mostly by how ill-fitting they were. His hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, a style Joey had only ever utilized on the worst of days at the studio. There were a few streaks of grey in it now. He kept wringing his hands, his eyes looking everywhere but at Bertram, and he was chewing on his lip. Bertram didn’t think he’d ever seen Joey Drew nervous before. So he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. 

“Mr. Drew.” He closed his book, setting it down beside his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Joey blinked, stunned by the fact that he hadn’t immediately been yelled at. He stood there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Across the street, a car honked. 

“Talk to him!” A woman yelled, sticking her head out of the car. She bore a familial resemblance to Joey, especially in the face shape and the nose. A sister, Bertram concluded. He’d heard Joey had an older sister he wasn’t close to.

“I’m going to!” Joey went bright red, turning back to yell back at her. 

“I suppose that’s your sister, then.” Bertram smiled despite himself. 

“Oh, um, yes.” Joey turned back to him. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been staying with her and her family lately. She’s been...helping me.” He smiled slightly, gazing down at his feet. The expression was tender and soft. So different from anything he’d displayed while he’d been head of the studio.

“Would you like to come inside?” Bertram rose from his chair. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Joey smiled nervously. “I only really came here to say one thing. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“You’ve come all this way.” Bertram gestured him over, opening the front door. “It would be rude to turn you away without inviting you in.”

“Well...alright.” Joey gave a quick thumbs up to his sister in the car and went inside. 

The house was small but tidy. Bertram had done a lot of organization since they’d moved in. His sister had had his things stored away, so he was able to have most of his comforts once again. Lacie’s possessions had been lost as her landlord had thrown them out after she’d been missing for six months. She’d been upset at this, but there wasn’t much they could do. He’d comforted her as best he could. They had new things now. Books and house plants and little machines Bertram had been tinkering with. Bertram was particularly proud of the house plants. Wally had been teaching him how to properly take care of them and he hadn’t killed one in nearly a month!

“This is really nice.” Joey looked around in wonder. 

“Thank you, I’ve done quite a lot of work to make it look good.” Bertram beamed. “I picked out the paint colors, but we ended up having to ask Mr. Flynn to assist us with properly painting. Lacie and Mr. Connor built the shelves themselves. She didn’t really trust a store to make them properly.” 

He continued talking about the work they’d done as he led Joey to the kitchen. Joey was a little taken aback to see the park design so happy and open. He wasn’t sure if any of the other studio employees had ever seen this side of Bertram, but he certainly hadn’t. He’d probably been responsible for the majority of Bertram’s misery at the studio. He certainly hadn’t made things easy for him.

“In any case, what brings you here?” 

“Um, sorry?” Joey snapped back to reality, realizing they had reached the kitchen. It was just as cozy as the rest of the house. There was a cat calendar on the wall, little knick-knacks on the shelves, a good number of cookbooks. 

“What brings you here?” Bertram repeated, moving to fill up a kettle. “Milwaukee is a long way from New York. That is where you’re staying, yes?”

“Oh, yes.” Joey hovered nervously beside the kitchen table. “Well, I, uh, um...” He licked his, eyes darting around the room. Bertram set the kettle on the stove, turning it on. He kept his back to Joey, sensing it might be easier for the other man to say what he needed to say if Bertram’s eyes weren’t on him. 

“I came...to apologize.” Joey finally said after a minute of hesitation and stammering. 

“To apologize?” Bertram asked. His voice was neutral, but his grip on the counter loosened. He hadn’t entirely realized how tight he’d been gripping it.

“Yes.” Joey nodded, fumbling out a piece of paper from his pocket. “I, um, I have a list I’ve been working down. Former employees I need to apologize to. Essie said it would be good for me to make amends.”

“That’s good of you.” Bertram smiled to himself, getting out a few cups and some teabags. 

“You all deserve an apology. You deserve so much more than that too.” Joey clutched the paper to his chest, hunching his shoulders. “But...An apology is all I can really give. I can’t...I can’t undo what I did. So...” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m truly and utterly sorry. The things I did are inexcusable and reprehensible and I understand that there is nothing I can truly do to fix this.”

“That is true. There is precious little you can do to fix your mistakes.” Bertram poured the boiling water into the cups, turning and putting them on the table. “Still, I appreciate that you are attempting to make amends. The Drew I met in that damnable studio would never do such a thing unless he had to.” He settled at the table, stirring the tea with a spoon. 

“I...Is that a compliment?” Joey’s brow furrowed in concern. He was still waiting for the moment when Bertram would snap, would berate him for all he’d done.

“It is,” Bertram assured him. “I believe you are a better man than you were. Or you are trying to become better at the very least.” Joey watched him for a moment or two, relief and confusion mixing on his features. Finally, though, he smiled. 

“Thank you.”

“In any case, I appreciate the apology.” Bertram continued. “Lacie should be home soon if you’d like to apologize to her as well.”

“I...I would.” Joey nodded. His shoulders hunched again at the thought of speaking with her. Lacie Benton had no tolerance for bullshit and didn’t suffer fools lightly. He couldn’t imagine she harbored any good feelings toward him. Not after everything he’d done to her.

“Well, then.” Bertram nudged a chair toward Joey. “Take a seat.”

They spent an hour together before Lacie arrived. The conversation was rather awkward at times but they knew they both needed it. Joey apologized for disrespecting Bertram time and time again, which Bertram happily accepted. Eventually, the conversation got around to their families. That was a bit of an easier topic to talk about.

“Did someone take over the company after you...disappeared?” Joey asked, visibly hesitating on the last word. 

“My sister, Charlotte, took care of it for a bit,” Bertram replied. “But it’s under the care of her son Augustus at the moment.”

“Did you try to take the company back?” Joey asked. He expected the answer would be yes. If there was something he and Bertram had in common, it was their tendency to work until their bodies or minds gave out.

“I considered the possibility, but Charlotte wouldn’t hear of it.” Bertram laughed, shaking his head. “She told me I’m a workaholic who needs to take a break.”

“Sounds familiar.” Joey murmured with a wry smile. 

“Besides, the company is in good hands.” Bertram waved a hand dismissively. “Augustus is a capable man. Charlotte and Louis did a good job raising him.”

“That must be reassuring.”

“It is.” Bertram allowed himself a small smile. “How is your family?”

“They’re...” Joey twisted his mouth, searching for the right words. “I wish I had tried to see them sooner.” His sister had gotten married. He had a niece and a nephew. A niece and a nephew who were adults and had never met him before Esther had brought him back to the house. He’d abandoned his family and now they didn’t know him anymore.

“That’s understandable.” 

Joey breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the front door open. He hadn’t particularly wanted to fall to pieces in front of Bertram. He was still emotionally raw when it came to his failings with his family. 

“I’m back.” Lacie’s voice came from the entry hall. “Went by the store and picked up some of that rose tea you liked.”

“Thank you! I’m in the kitchen!” Bertram called. Joey sat up a bit straighter, pulling out his list again. His reminder of who he needed to make amends to. The heavy sound of Lacie’s boots grew closer until she appeared in the doorway. She stared at Joey. Her jaw clenched and her hold on the tin of tea tightened. 

“What is he doing here?” The word had so much venom in it Joey almost wanted to turn and run. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath. 

“Hello, Miss Benton.” He stood up, trying to still his shaking hands. His legs were still shaking, though. “I-I’ve come here to apologize.”

“He’s already given me his apology,” Bertram said. Lacie’s eyes flicked over to him momentarily before going back to Joey. 

“Fine.”

“Than- Thank you.” Joey took a deep breath. “I’m...I’m sorry for all the things I did to you. I know that won’t fix everything I’ve done, but I want you to know that I truly regret my actions.”

The silence following his apology was excruciating for Joey. Lacie said nothing, just staring at him. It was hard to know what was going on in her mind. She’d never been the sort to wear her heart on her sleeve. Finally, Lacie spoke.

“I accept your apology.” She said. “But I’m not going to forgive you.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“Good.” Lacie turned away from him, heading to put the tin in a cupboard. “Thank you for coming to apologize.”

“You’re welcome.” Joey put his list away, breathing an internal sigh of relief. “I should probably be going now. Esther’s probably wondering why I’ve been in here so long.”

“Safe travels.” Bertram escorted him out.

Joey smiled to himself as he made his way back to Esther’s car. He’d been terrified he’d get cursed out, yelled at. That they would throw things at him. Gods knew he deserved it. But they hadn’t. They hadn’t forgiven him, but they’d accepted his apology.

“You were in there for a long time,” Esther said as he got back in. “Did everything go alright?”

“It did.” Joey nodded, feeling the tears starting to well up. “It went really well.” 

Esther smiled gently, leaning over to hug him. “I’m proud of you, Jojo. You’re doing a good thing.”

Joey sniffled loudly, burying his face in his sister’s chest. The guilt wasn’t ever going to go away, he was sure of that, but it felt good to have his apologies accepted. He was making progress. They all were. 

[queenofcats17]

BATIM Inktober 23

Today was Life is slipping, and I went with Joey. Featuring mention of my OC, Esther Drew. I wanted Joey to have some kind of family. 

Some of this is inspired by @halfusek‘s Joey artwork. 

When Joey had been diagnosed with polio, it had felt like his life was over. There was no cure for it, and while it might not outright kill him, he knew he would never be the same afterward. He’d be bound to a wheelchair, a cripple. No one would ever take him seriously again. He almost wanted to reach out to his sister, his parents. Henry was gone, and he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to lose himself all alone. He’d always dreaded losing his independence and being forced to rely on others. He needed total control of everything, especially his own body. It had driven his parents and Esther crazy when he’d been young, and it continued to drive his employees crazy. But he refused to relinquish control of anything, not while he still had the ability to function. So, Joey did what he always did when confronted with something he didn’t like. He buried it, forgot about it, pushed it away so that he wouldn’t have to think about it. And for a bit, that worked. He continued on trying to ensure the survival of his studio by any means necessary. But the threat of his illness still lingered in the back of his mind, promising it would rear its head when he least expected it. And it did.

It had been in a staff meeting with the leaders of each division. The current head animator whose name Joey had never bothered to learn because he’d never be Henry, Sammy, Grant, Thomas, Bertram. There might have been others, but those were the ones Joey remembered. The topic of the meeting escaped him. He’d been barely holding it together for weeks, forcing himself to move and push through the sudden weakness his muscles were experiencing. He couldn’t let himself fall. He couldn’t become weak. He’d been in the middle of some presentation when the world had begun to swim around him. He’d tried to remain conscious, tried to fight it, but the next thing he knew he was crashing to the ground. When he woke up, he was in the hospital. Sammy was there, as well as Grant and, surprisingly, Bertram. All Joey had to do was look at Sammy to know that he’d been found out.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sammy asked. He sounded so defeated. Joey had never considered the two of them to be friends, but it was obvious Sammy had been at least a little worried about him.

“I didn’t think it was relevant.” Joey tried to summon up some kind of venom, but he found his reserves all dried up. It felt as though he was a shell of his former self, a fate he’d always feared.

“Mr. Drew, it would have been nice if you’d informed us of this sooner instead of trying to force yourself beyond your limits.” Grant stood by his bed, looking far more disapproving than he ever had before. And Joey had been the recipient of many disapproving looks from Grant.

“I don’t suppose you’re about to lecture me about how much this visit will cost?” Joey managed a weak smile.

“Mr. Piedmont volunteered to pay for this out of pocket.” Grant continued. “So, you should thank him.” Joey’s eyes widened, then he frowned and looked at Bertram.

“I am not fond of you, Drew, but even you don’t deserve to suffer like this,” Bertram said calmly. There was a look in his eyes that Joey had seen in others, one he’d come to hate. Pity.

“Thank you, Bertie.” He smiled through gritted teeth. How dare Bertram pity him?! He wasn’t some child to be looked down upon! Bertram’s pitying glance remained, tinged only momentarily by anger.

“I’ll be going back to the studio now.” He announced, adjusting his tie. “I have work to do.” He left without another word, leaving Joey alone with Grant and Sammy. He could feel the pity in their gazes as well.

“I should get going too.” Sammy got up from his chair. “Gotta make sure Wally didn’t accidentally flood my office again.” Then it was just Grant and Joey. Joey’s whole body was shaking, both from anger and barely contained sobs.

“Mr. Drew-” Grant began, reaching out for Joey.

“Don’t touch me,” Joey growled, not looking up. His gaze was firmly on his lap, focused on his legs. He’d been losing feeling in them for a long time now. He probably couldn’t even walk anymore.

“Mr. Drew, we need to talk about this,” Grant said firmly.

“No, we don’t.” Joey snapped. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You can’t just pretend this isn’t happening.” Grant insisted. “This will change things at the studio.” Joey knew he was right. This would change things. It would change everything. Joey’s grip on the sheets tightened. Somehow, his hands had balled into fists. He would find some way to fix this, he had to.

When he got back to the studio, things were different. He could feel the looks of pity his employees gave him when he rolled by in his wheelchair. He seldom left his office anymore. It was too hard to get around the studio in his condition. He threw himself into his research. He’d already set his plan of bringing his creations to life via the Ink Machine into motion. The ink flowed through the studio, full of dark magic. He would make his creations live, yes, but he was also going to cure himself now. The ink had to have some way to free him of his mortal body. The more he researched, the surer he became. This would help him live forever. This would help him reclaim the life that was slipping away from him. His dreams were going to come true. No matter what.