Character Sketch.
Jan. 8th, 2004 12:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breakfastofchampionsRegency Dandies. Part of a greater whole.
Earnest.
Earnest has always been pretty, but it is a vicious and rather petty prettiness. No great thing. His red girlish lips seem somehow as though they would taste bitter, like poison berries, and when they bend in a smile, the effect is somehow disturbing. And yes, the lashes that frame his gray eyes are long and very black, but the eyes themselves are brutal and so often eerily blank of feeling. His complexion is truly as smooth as cream, but something about the way his cheekbones and nose rise within it so sharply gives the impression that to touch it would put one in danger of a wound.
Earnest's father has never thought well of his prettiness. Prettiness is for things in skirts, not for young men. Of course, he would have forgiven the lad his looks if they had been paired with a good character, but he has despaired of the boy's character from a very young age. A lazy creature, and insolent. A creature who says the most reprehensible things, espouses the most dangerous philosophies. He is, he thinks, hardly to be blamed for beating the boy. One day, perhaps, one of the beatings will stick. Or else he will manage to beat the prettiness out of the boy, to bury that demon's mark in a sea of bruises. In his eyes, it is his son's only hope. But the boy only laughs when his father hits him, and so he hits harder.
Earnest's mother creeps into the room crying when her husband is gone. She sits and weeps over her bloodied son, petting his head and kissing his cheeks, giving him revivifying sips of what she's been drinking all day. Earnest lets her pour the liquor down his throat, sucking on the bottle's mouth as though it's his mother's teat he suckles at. Maudlin in her drunkeness, she tells him in broken phrases what an animal his father is, how she's sorry she ever married him. She tells him how lovely he is, what a good son, what a perfect son, and she loves him very much. She won't let that man raise a hand to him again, she promises. Not her darling Earnest. Never again. She strokes his forehead, she enfolds him in her arms. Earnest laughs at this too, though her kisses and caresses he enjoys more than his father's blows, and sometimes he kisses her back.
At school, he is indifferent. Indifferent to his studies, indifferent to the other boys, indifferent to everything. He doesn't think that he cares about anything in the least. If he does anything, it is only to amuse himself. When he lets some of the boys use him as they like, it is because the sensation rather pleases him, and because he enjoys imagining what his father would say if he knew. His father would probably beat him to death, he thinks, and the thought makes him laugh. When he sucks his Latin master's cock, it is not to get a higher mark-- which he does-- but only because he thinks it might be a diverting thing to do. Earnest is terribly bored all the time, and he longs only to alleviate his boredom.
Or, at least, that is all he longs for until he begins to long for something else. For Earnest is mistaken in the assumption that he does not care. He has his cares, but they have been hidden for a long time-- in hiding they have made of themselves strange things, with their own peculiar customs, wearing phantasmagoric shapes, changed beyond all recognition.
Earnest first meets the other boy's gaze during Latin. The master has been very gentle with Earnest throughout the lesson, telling him he's right when he cannot possibly be, praising him when he is clearly the worst student in the school. This has, it seems, invoked the other boy's attention, and Earnest, feeling eyes upon him, turns to see the boy staring at him, so oddly. With a cold curiosity. As though Earnest is a specimen-- nothing very important, perhaps worthy of being dissected at most. Earnest does not remember this boy having ever looked at him in any way before, and for some reason, he realizes, he is very pleased by those eyes upon him. The sensation of pleasure spreads through him warmly, pooling in his belly, and suddenly he feels all at once as though he's intoxicated, although he hasn't had anything to drink yet today. He sees something in the boy's icy gaze that excites him beyond all measure.
Earnest knows the boy's name. Alistair Meredith. He has a dangerous reputation, Earnest remembers. He is feared by the other boys, although unlike others who are so feared, he is one of the star pupils of the school, often held up by the masters as a shining light, a beacon to guide them all. If only you could all do so well as Alistair does. You might look to Alistair for a good example. What Earnest sees in the other boy's eyes, however, is not a good example. No, it is something else altogether. Earnest looks at him and laughs, out loud, in the midst of the lesson, and suddenly everyone's staring at him, thinking him mad. But they don't understand. Earnest always laughs when he's afraid; it's his defense mechanism. How could anyone know you're afraid if you're laughing?
Earnest.
Earnest has always been pretty, but it is a vicious and rather petty prettiness. No great thing. His red girlish lips seem somehow as though they would taste bitter, like poison berries, and when they bend in a smile, the effect is somehow disturbing. And yes, the lashes that frame his gray eyes are long and very black, but the eyes themselves are brutal and so often eerily blank of feeling. His complexion is truly as smooth as cream, but something about the way his cheekbones and nose rise within it so sharply gives the impression that to touch it would put one in danger of a wound.
Earnest's father has never thought well of his prettiness. Prettiness is for things in skirts, not for young men. Of course, he would have forgiven the lad his looks if they had been paired with a good character, but he has despaired of the boy's character from a very young age. A lazy creature, and insolent. A creature who says the most reprehensible things, espouses the most dangerous philosophies. He is, he thinks, hardly to be blamed for beating the boy. One day, perhaps, one of the beatings will stick. Or else he will manage to beat the prettiness out of the boy, to bury that demon's mark in a sea of bruises. In his eyes, it is his son's only hope. But the boy only laughs when his father hits him, and so he hits harder.
Earnest's mother creeps into the room crying when her husband is gone. She sits and weeps over her bloodied son, petting his head and kissing his cheeks, giving him revivifying sips of what she's been drinking all day. Earnest lets her pour the liquor down his throat, sucking on the bottle's mouth as though it's his mother's teat he suckles at. Maudlin in her drunkeness, she tells him in broken phrases what an animal his father is, how she's sorry she ever married him. She tells him how lovely he is, what a good son, what a perfect son, and she loves him very much. She won't let that man raise a hand to him again, she promises. Not her darling Earnest. Never again. She strokes his forehead, she enfolds him in her arms. Earnest laughs at this too, though her kisses and caresses he enjoys more than his father's blows, and sometimes he kisses her back.
At school, he is indifferent. Indifferent to his studies, indifferent to the other boys, indifferent to everything. He doesn't think that he cares about anything in the least. If he does anything, it is only to amuse himself. When he lets some of the boys use him as they like, it is because the sensation rather pleases him, and because he enjoys imagining what his father would say if he knew. His father would probably beat him to death, he thinks, and the thought makes him laugh. When he sucks his Latin master's cock, it is not to get a higher mark-- which he does-- but only because he thinks it might be a diverting thing to do. Earnest is terribly bored all the time, and he longs only to alleviate his boredom.
Or, at least, that is all he longs for until he begins to long for something else. For Earnest is mistaken in the assumption that he does not care. He has his cares, but they have been hidden for a long time-- in hiding they have made of themselves strange things, with their own peculiar customs, wearing phantasmagoric shapes, changed beyond all recognition.
Earnest first meets the other boy's gaze during Latin. The master has been very gentle with Earnest throughout the lesson, telling him he's right when he cannot possibly be, praising him when he is clearly the worst student in the school. This has, it seems, invoked the other boy's attention, and Earnest, feeling eyes upon him, turns to see the boy staring at him, so oddly. With a cold curiosity. As though Earnest is a specimen-- nothing very important, perhaps worthy of being dissected at most. Earnest does not remember this boy having ever looked at him in any way before, and for some reason, he realizes, he is very pleased by those eyes upon him. The sensation of pleasure spreads through him warmly, pooling in his belly, and suddenly he feels all at once as though he's intoxicated, although he hasn't had anything to drink yet today. He sees something in the boy's icy gaze that excites him beyond all measure.
Earnest knows the boy's name. Alistair Meredith. He has a dangerous reputation, Earnest remembers. He is feared by the other boys, although unlike others who are so feared, he is one of the star pupils of the school, often held up by the masters as a shining light, a beacon to guide them all. If only you could all do so well as Alistair does. You might look to Alistair for a good example. What Earnest sees in the other boy's eyes, however, is not a good example. No, it is something else altogether. Earnest looks at him and laughs, out loud, in the midst of the lesson, and suddenly everyone's staring at him, thinking him mad. But they don't understand. Earnest always laughs when he's afraid; it's his defense mechanism. How could anyone know you're afraid if you're laughing?
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-01-08 10:25 am (UTC)I am intrigued!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-01-08 12:22 pm (UTC)ah, this regency romance jen and i are writing is the most superdramatic and gay gay gay (oh so homo!) thing imaginable. heh heh heh. i love it.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-01-08 11:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-01-08 12:24 pm (UTC)*grin*