![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-adrienne.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsInstead of pulling out of the reading, Adrienne watched Frank Burke die, the long struggle with a terrible cough, and watched Dori arrive in America from a boat, where she stopped the timeline.
She was watching a carriage, and around it were cobbled streets and gaslights. Victorian England? The carriage passed a man who lookd like Logan on the street. There were two women in the horse-drawn hackney, Dori again, and a not-much-older woman who had Amanda's face. Older sister? Their clothes were neat but rather threadbare, as was the luggage on top of the coach, the carriage bearing the name of a cab company. There was a look of weariness about them, but Adrienne wasn't sure if it was because of travel or life in general. Postures were stiff, leading Adrienne to think she was witnessing a tense situation.
“Are we almost there?” some questions never did change over time, “I’m almost dead with boredom.” The voice reflected the complete direness of the situation as far as she was concerned.
"We'll be there soon," the older woman replied, crisply, with the air of someone who has answered the same question at least a half-dozen times. "And sit up straight. You'll wrinkle your gown and develop a hunch and your American fiancee will wonder what kind of creature he's been sent."
The younger girl’s expression was simply contemptible, “May I’ll do nothing but slouch and he’ll send me home. Won’t that be just wonderful?” He tone said she thought it might.
"This isn't about you, child. This is about the family, about improving our position. You are leaving for a far better life than you could ever have here - most young women would be grateful for what I've done for you."
“Oh, so very grateful,” the young woman said with a sigh, her cheeks puffing in a very unladylike way.
The older woman sighed. "I know it's hard, my dear, but it is for the best. I was barely your age myself when I came to England, so I know how daunting it must be." She folded her hands in her lap and glanced out at scenery unscrolling past the window. "Your financee is an honourable man and he'll take good care of you."
“Honorable as men see it, or honorable as a woman sees it?” she asked. Two entirely different things.
That earned a small smile from her mother. "I found him to be entirely honourable in my communications with him. Does that satisfy you, daughter?"
Adrienne paused here. Amanda was Dori's... mother?! It was laughable! What the fuck was going on here? She had to get out and question Wyngarde, ask Emma through the telepathic link...
“Perhaps,” she said, “The greatest measure shall be in person, which I really do not wish to take.”
"Duty does not heed what we wish, my dear." The woman looked out the window again. "My father, he taught me that. I was a young and frightened girl when he entrusted me with the family's most precious possession."
“Oh, not this again,” she sighed, “I want nothing to do with that dusty old thing.”
"What you want does not come into this." The older woman's voice became harder, steelier. "The seal is more important than your petty wants and likes. Blood was sacrificed for this seal and you will return it to America, where it belongs."
“Then we can send it via post. I don’t see why I have to carry it,” she said simply.
"Foolish girl! Are you not listening to me? Men have died to ensure the safety of this seal and you want to consign it to the common mail?" The older woman's voice rose, her pale cheeks turning red. "I am not being dramatic, child. I watched a man die before my very eyes, to ensure that I got the seal to safety. He barely knew me and yet was so very brave..." Incredibly, tears appeared in the woman's eyes. "I will not have you dishonour his sacrifice."
For once the teenager appeared cowed and silent. At least for a moment, “But why? What is so utterly special about it that people have had to die for it?”
Her mother blotted her tears with a lace edged handkerchief and gave her daughter a tight smile. "It is power, child. Men have killed for less."
She was watching a carriage, and around it were cobbled streets and gaslights. Victorian England? The carriage passed a man who lookd like Logan on the street. There were two women in the horse-drawn hackney, Dori again, and a not-much-older woman who had Amanda's face. Older sister? Their clothes were neat but rather threadbare, as was the luggage on top of the coach, the carriage bearing the name of a cab company. There was a look of weariness about them, but Adrienne wasn't sure if it was because of travel or life in general. Postures were stiff, leading Adrienne to think she was witnessing a tense situation.
“Are we almost there?” some questions never did change over time, “I’m almost dead with boredom.” The voice reflected the complete direness of the situation as far as she was concerned.
"We'll be there soon," the older woman replied, crisply, with the air of someone who has answered the same question at least a half-dozen times. "And sit up straight. You'll wrinkle your gown and develop a hunch and your American fiancee will wonder what kind of creature he's been sent."
The younger girl’s expression was simply contemptible, “May I’ll do nothing but slouch and he’ll send me home. Won’t that be just wonderful?” He tone said she thought it might.
"This isn't about you, child. This is about the family, about improving our position. You are leaving for a far better life than you could ever have here - most young women would be grateful for what I've done for you."
“Oh, so very grateful,” the young woman said with a sigh, her cheeks puffing in a very unladylike way.
The older woman sighed. "I know it's hard, my dear, but it is for the best. I was barely your age myself when I came to England, so I know how daunting it must be." She folded her hands in her lap and glanced out at scenery unscrolling past the window. "Your financee is an honourable man and he'll take good care of you."
“Honorable as men see it, or honorable as a woman sees it?” she asked. Two entirely different things.
That earned a small smile from her mother. "I found him to be entirely honourable in my communications with him. Does that satisfy you, daughter?"
Adrienne paused here. Amanda was Dori's... mother?! It was laughable! What the fuck was going on here? She had to get out and question Wyngarde, ask Emma through the telepathic link...
“Perhaps,” she said, “The greatest measure shall be in person, which I really do not wish to take.”
"Duty does not heed what we wish, my dear." The woman looked out the window again. "My father, he taught me that. I was a young and frightened girl when he entrusted me with the family's most precious possession."
“Oh, not this again,” she sighed, “I want nothing to do with that dusty old thing.”
"What you want does not come into this." The older woman's voice became harder, steelier. "The seal is more important than your petty wants and likes. Blood was sacrificed for this seal and you will return it to America, where it belongs."
“Then we can send it via post. I don’t see why I have to carry it,” she said simply.
"Foolish girl! Are you not listening to me? Men have died to ensure the safety of this seal and you want to consign it to the common mail?" The older woman's voice rose, her pale cheeks turning red. "I am not being dramatic, child. I watched a man die before my very eyes, to ensure that I got the seal to safety. He barely knew me and yet was so very brave..." Incredibly, tears appeared in the woman's eyes. "I will not have you dishonour his sacrifice."
For once the teenager appeared cowed and silent. At least for a moment, “But why? What is so utterly special about it that people have had to die for it?”
Her mother blotted her tears with a lace edged handkerchief and gave her daughter a tight smile. "It is power, child. Men have killed for less."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}