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Post by GENEVIEVE MARTIN on Sept 5, 2010 1:29:16 GMT -5
Normally you wouldn’t find Genevieve in such a place as this.
The place ran rampant with military men of all shapes, sizes and creeds. It was almost a repulsive sight to her, but she was able to keep whatever sick she felt back, and continue walking forward. She was only there for one purpose. Women didn’t belong in places like Fort Charles alone. But the need arose, and Genevieve couldn’t help but find herself here. Her tidings were certainly unfortunate for him, and perhaps even for a few more people she knew, even though it was most exciting for her. But as she stepped into this place, with one man on her mind, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit sad.
A few of the generals and privates were watching her stride along the courtyard, holding her head high with a certain air of confidence, like she had walked these halls before. Which, she was embarrassed to admit, she had. But it was only ever to visit Timothy. She always hated having to come here to see him, which was why she usually had them meet elsewhere; but, today, she had to barge in for an impromptu meeting. Even if he was busy, she would force her way in, and say what she needed to say, and ask what she needed to ask, because she knew he would let her do that. He always did.
He was between assignments at the moment, which gave him no real reason to be here, but he was anyway. It’s not like he had anywhere else to go. He was adorably predictable that way. Genevieve liked knowing she could always find him when she needed him, which was generally more often than it needed to be. Sometimes it was just harder to say, “I wanted to see you,” than it was to just pretend that she needed to ask some inane question, or request some ridiculous favor that she normally wouldn’t have needed him to do. But, for once, she really did need him for something. Something important.
Eventually she approached the door to his quarters, and quietly crept in unceremoniously. As she closed the door behind her, she could hear the quiet wooping from some of the other privates that had been watching her the whole time. With a small sigh, she rolled her eyes and straightened out her white summer dress. She realized it was too simple, too plain, to even show her social standing. Perhaps she did look like a common whore. Then again, what did she care what some drunken, idiotic soldiers thought?
Genevieve tilted her head and gazed into the far corner of the room, where a small desk and chair sat. And there he sat also; back turned to the door, focused so wholly on whatever that was in front of him to even notice she had entered. A small smile tugged on her lips as she took a few steps forward. “Tim,” she cooed affectionately, her eyes softening a little, almost as if she were creating a memory in her mind that she could hold onto for however long it lasted, before it slowly faded away into obscurity.
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Post by TIMOTHY ACKERMAN on Sept 5, 2010 17:21:53 GMT -5
Familiar faces were hard to come by in Fort Charles, and a friendly face seemed even more difficult to find.
Life was slow; the men moved sluggishly as if it were too much for them to walk from one place to another or lift a drink to their lips. Every frown and incredulous stare directed his way seemed to mock his own liveliness and youthful strength. Not that he considered himself particularly youthful, but he had always found a wellspring of energy to draw from. It appeared that other men did not have such a blessing.
Tim had not been there very long and he knew he would feel better once he was assigned to a ship, but he felt agitated and isolated. He was used to having a respectable amount of friends, a safety net that was useful in battling loneliness and monotony. However, he knew no one here and this business of being an in-between was irritating in the extreme.
Name, date of birth, skills, disabilities, and a healthy dose of flattery... Timothy Ackerman was a man of action, not a man of checklists. His current letter to request placement was likely the most boring and most important he had written in quite a long time. He longed more than ever to be thrown into the fray to prove himself and to fulfill his duties. This sitting about was like being shut in a glass case. They were there on display for everyone to see, but were utterly useless and inane.
In the midst of his wool-gathering, he had stopped writing and someone had entered his room. Putting down his quill, which had begun to drip onto the missive he'd been writing, he turned around to find the only face in Port Royal that was both familiar and friendly, a small, vague smile on her face and his name lingering on her lips.
"Gene!" he whispered in a single delighted, breathless exhalation. Genevieve Martin... a girl he had teasingly named the 'French Tart' back in their school days. And now they were back where they had first found each other. Children weren't exactly allowed in Port Royal, but he had crept away from his mother's side to see it anyway. Hiding behind barrels and leaping from shadow to shadow, the two of them had collided with each other and he had laughed at her high-brow French accent and she had laughed at his farm-boy Scottish drawl. It had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but he had not been to Port Royal in some time. Her presence was a welcome surprise, but a surprise nonetheless.
"Been a while, hasn't it?" he inquired good-naturedly as he stood up and offered his chair to her. "I'm afraid accommodations are about as good as they always are, but is there anything I can get you while you're here?"
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Post by GENEVIEVE MARTIN on Sept 5, 2010 17:49:10 GMT -5
The way her named sounded coming from his lips made her skin tingle with warmth. She wasn’t a girl to blush, and usually was very good at keeping it that way, since when she did, it was hard to hide. Fair complexions were a curse in so many ways. She had hoped that her cheeks weren’t flush, and she certainly couldn’t tell without looking into a looking-glass; but in the back of her mind, she was afraid she had been, simply because of how warm her face felt. The room was dark enough to hide the color from her face, if there was any, but not even to hide the completely oblivious and cute smile that teased at her lips. He offered her a chair, and she raised her hand to refuse it kindly. “It really ‘as been a while,” she admitted, almost sadly. “But, I am not ‘ere for a chat, or to em…” she concentrated for a minute, as if she were translating something in her head. “Shoot ze breeze, as they say. I think.”
Genevieve walked forward a few steps, playing with her fingers nervously as she examined Timothy for the first time she had in so long. Once a boy, he was now a man – a military man – and looked so much differently than he had before. The once taunt muscles only formed by farm work had now become more shapely and well formed, his clothes shaping every couture that they could. He started to grow a beard, which she had to admit was fitting, and now towered above her in newly gained height. He really was all grown up now. It was hard to believe. The candle light on the desk dimly illuminated his face, flickering waveringly across his features. His structure of his face had matured, but one thing still hadn’t changed: His eyes; his gorgeous, wonderful, emotive, deep eyes. The kindness in them briefly shined with each flicker of candlelight across them. He was looking right at her the entire time. His gaze never wavered. Genevieve could feel her heart sink in sadness and elation.
“I ‘ave… come to ask you a favor,” she murmured, frowning a little. Genevieve gave a quick sigh as she clasped her hands over her waist, eyes lowering as she tried to focus on anything else that wasn’t him. She was only doing so because if she kept the gaze a bit longer, she knew she would start crying. “And… to say goodbye.”
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Post by TIMOTHY ACKERMAN on Sept 5, 2010 18:47:58 GMT -5
Her tone and her body exuded nervousness as she refused the chair he offered. Instantly, Tim picked up on her mood and got down to business. Whatever it was she needed, it was obviously causing her discomfort, but he would help her in any way he could. After all, he had never found it in him to refuse her before.
He leaned his hip against the side of the desk, leaving the chair open for her in case she should need it. Now that he was standing, he got a better look at her, and what a look it was. Her skin was smooth and pale, her fine hair falling across her shoulders and spinning up the sides of her face like a golden vine. She wore a light summer dress that was perfectly white, in direct contrast to her plain, dark, and grimy surroundings. The fabric fluttered under a nonexistent breeze and accentuated her curves, which she seemed to have gained quite a bit of since he'd seen her last.
Tim forced himself to look back to her eyes, which were a deep, cloudy blue. He could hear his mother's voice in his head admonishing him not to stare, but he couldn't be bothered to obey the ghost of a memory, for Genevieve was far more beautiful then he'd remembered. Her face had blurred in his mind over the years, but his boyish crush had never faded. Even though back then her curls were always wild and going every which way and her gait precise and curious. Her smiles were brief and her speech nearly impossible to understand. Yes, even then, he had looked on her favorably.
And now here they were, at somewhat of a stalemate in their relationship. It had been so long; they say that time heals all wounds, but it has been known to erode friendships and break soft-spoken promises. She had come for a favor, but she had also come for a commitment. Would he help her, or not? Was she worth enough to him for him to try?
They would have to find out. "Goodbye?" he asked, his eyes searching, but mirthful. "But we've not yet even said hello!"
He took her hand in his and laid a kiss on it gently. "Hello, and good morning, Miss Genevieve!" he greeted her with mock-formality, but then grinned impishly at her. He straightened and let go of her hand, but placed the hand that had touched hers to his heart.
"There," he said. "Now you are allowed to say goodbye in any manner you wish."
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Post by GENEVIEVE MARTIN on Sept 5, 2010 19:47:59 GMT -5
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…
His small act of courtesy was enough to send her away. The warmth of his lips radiated throughout her whole being, and even as he moved away, she could still feel his lips on the top of her hand, and unwittingly copied his gesture of placing her hand against her heart. Genevieve tried to smile, but it faltered quickly. “You’re making zis ‘ard for me, mon cher,” she muttered to him sweetly. Genevieve laughed bitterly, and looked toward the ceiling; anything to keep herself from meeting his eyes. She would break down then and there if she looked into those sweet, sweet eyes.
Genevieve stood there in silence for a long while. She almost considered leaving and never returning. She expected her farewell to be fairly easy, since she hadn’t seen him for so long. But she supposed those feelings that she had always harbored for this boy – this man – endured after all this time. But she knew that if she didn’t have the courage to say goodbye, to even stay behind to stay with him just a bit longer, she would be forced away from him eventually. At least when she left on her own terms… she would see him again.
She didn’t know when… but there was that chance they would.
“You remember my sister, oui?” she began again, her voice quivering ever so slightly. She coughed before she allowed herself to speak again. Now she was thinking of Emma and Tim, how she was abandoning them both. “Emma… You were around when she was born, right? I… I need you to…” Genevieve’s hands clenched into fists as she forced herself to keep from crying. Her eyes betrayed her as they watered a little, glimmering slightly in the candle light as they flickered past.
“I’m leaving Port Royal,” she forced out, closing her eyes. “I cannot stay ‘ere anymore. I ‘ave to leave… And I need you to look after Emma for me, when you can spare the time. You… You don’t ‘ave to do much… just make sure she’s safe, happy… That… That she doesn’t ‘old onto that sadness when I’m gone.” She opened her eyes once more, and forced herself to look into his.
“And… And I couldn’t leave without telling you goodbye…” The quavering in her voice was stronger now, and it was obvious, even to her, that she was trying too hard to keep herself from breaking down and sobbing on the floor, pathetically, right in front of him.
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Post by TIMOTHY ACKERMAN on Sept 5, 2010 20:36:27 GMT -5
Tim reached into a pocket and brought forth a clean handkerchief, which he offered to her wordlessly. She wanted him to look after her sister? If he hadn't known he would grant her request before, those were the words that would ensure his agreement. He felt a small pang in the back of his mind, his thoughts straying for the barest breadth of a moment on his own sisters, back home. If he had stayed, would he be married, with sons and daughters of his own?
He shook his head to clear it. Thoughts like that weren't productive, especially when he had immediate plans to travel abroad and risk his life repeatedly. It was better that he did not have any further attachments, for now.
"Emma," he echoed Gene. "I do not recall knowing her. How old is she? As a matter of fact, you'd best write down what you can about her, since I don't really know how to find her."
He rummaged about on his desk for a bit of parchment. "But you must know I'm due to leave soon. I will do what I can... but I'm afraid I can't be here for her as long as you or I would like," he explained, his voice slightly sad.
Then, he turned to her, his expression grave and reluctant. He wasn't sure if he should ask, but he felt he had a right to. "Gene, if you are to leave... where will you go?" he inquired softly, handing her the blank parchment and his quill.
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Post by GENEVIEVE MARTIN on Sept 5, 2010 21:09:40 GMT -5
Genevieve shakily reached forward and grabbed the handkerchief, and clenched it tightly in her palm, and completely forgot about using it to wipe away whatever tears were threatening to flow. She shook her head as he offered her parchment and quill, and saw writing down this information as pointless. She didn’t really need him to go babysit Emma, even enter her home, but just pass by the estate and so happen to see her playing, just to make sure she was alright. Genevieve honestly wasn’t even sure she needed him to do any of this at all, but felt like it was better to make sure whatever possible option was covered before she could completely move on.
“S-She’s younger than I,” she began, her voice shaky, but still retaining some grace and pride. “A child… You don’t ‘ave to do much. You don’t even ‘ave to talk to my parents, I just… I just need to know someone would look after ‘er… If zere is anything you remember, it ez where my ‘ome is, oui?” She gave out a sad laugh, her head bowed low. If there was anything he remembered about her, it had to be her giant home just outside of Port Royal. All the poor kids teased her over it. She was never “one of them” because of her parents’ aristocratic status.
Genevieve, unbeknownst to her, began to walk closer to him. She didn’t know why, but she did. There was always something about Timothy that she knew she could trust. If there was anyone she felt safe with, it was him. And when he asked where she might be, she almost felt like she could, and perhaps should, tell him the truth. That she was going to risk everything and run off with a band of pirates. But why inform him of that? Why allow this farewell to become bitter? It was already sad, but at least his memories of her would not be tainted. That was the last thing she wanted.
“I don’t know where I will go,” she answered. It was a half truth. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew who she was going with. “But I ‘ave to go. It ez either risk what ez out there in the world, or go live in Moscow for ze rest of my life… Trapped.” She couldn’t help that a small tear fell down her cheek, but she prevented anymore from slipping and quickly wiped it away, as if she were embarrassed and ashamed by it. “I cannot let zat ‘appen. My life is my own… and I do not wish to… to go off to Russia and get married… And, if zat means I must leave my ‘ome to get away from zat, then that is what I ‘ave to do.”
Suddenly, she gently leaned into him, finally noticing their close proximity. It wasn’t in any way, shape, or form, an attempt at a hug, or anything. Genevieve had lain against him almost as if she were tired, and couldn’t feel like she could stand on her own two feet anymore. And she knew that how she was acting was wholly inappropriate for a woman of her standing to be acting such a way with a man she hadn’t seen in so long; but alone with him, with no eyes to see, and no person to judge, she just lay there weakly, opened to him completely.
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Post by TIMOTHY ACKERMAN on Sept 11, 2010 18:31:47 GMT -5
Thinking for a moment, he realized that despite all the years he probably could find her home, still. Tim set down the writing things and regarded her gravely. He could understand her concern; her parents had always been strict and overbearing at the best of times, from his view anyway. Though that all made sense to him, he could tell she was hiding something. Her reticence was unnerving for some reason, but he decided to ignore that in favor of supporting her in a time which must be very stressful to her.
At that moment, he realized her proximity and stiffened slightly. He hadn't been this close to a woman in a long time, much less someone as aesthetically appealing as Genevieve, who also happened to be an old friend who he didn't want to alienate so soon after their reunion. However... she was leaving. He supposed he could afford to take some liberties.
"I know... I know you must feel chained, but... I wish you wouldn't go. I have to leave soon, but I didn't realize I would see you again," he said. Slowly and gently, he reached up to brush a lock of curls from her cheek and settled a hand on her arm. Her skin was cool and smooth, but he tried not to think about it. "Are you sure you can't stay a little longer? Hide out somewhere in town? I wish I had more time to catch up with you."
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Post by GENEVIEVE MARTIN on Sept 11, 2010 19:12:40 GMT -5
His touch was gentle and affectionate, and sent ripples of shivers down the length of her spine. For a moment, she dug her face into his chest and breathed deeply, taking in his warmth and scent, and making a memory of it. She wanted to consume every detail she could about him, so she would never, ever forget. But, even then, that was a fool's hope. She knew that it was almost certain that she wouldn't seen him for a very long while, and although he was in the military, he would eventually find someone, and probably never think of her again. Timothy was a very openly loving man. That was his charm, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Jealousy was unbecoming and selfish. But she couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy at the idea. Perhaps, when she left, she would force herself to find someone too. Make it alright, make it safe, to forget.
When she began to think more and more about it, she realized that the only way she could ever see Tim again would be to keep her pirating a secret. It would be a hard thing to accomplish, but it was the only chance she would ever have. But, then again, it probably wouldn't have been a good idea at all to be holding onto a memory. She had to move on. She would have to convince herself that this would be the last time she would probably ever see him as Genevieve Martin. This would be the last time he would touch her. This would be the last time his words would be gentle and friendly.
Genevieve noticed that she had grown quiet, and slowly she pulled her head away. She had left a small wet spot on his shirt, and when she lifted her hands to her face, she realized her cheeks were damp, and her eyes were steadily flowing with tears. She wiped them away and gave a gentle sniffle.
[pink]"I only 'ave a few days..."[/pink] she began shakily, forcing herself to look at him. [pink]"I 'ave... made arrangements with a captain, and will be sailing away with 'im soon. If I don't zen, I will be forced away in a week's time to Moscow..."[/pink]
Genevieve let out a gentle sob, but stifled it before more cries could burst forth. She fell to silence as she gathered herself so she could speak again. Her blue eyes mixed with the crimson and the wetness, looking almost like the ocean as she tried to calm herself by looking into his eyes. Unwittingly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head into his shoulders, her petite body barely pressing against his as she held him in a gentle embrace.
[pink]"I don't want to leave you,"[/pink] she whispered, sounding surprised at herself. [pink]"I want to stay, and talk to you, and everything... but I don't know if I can."[/pink]
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Post by TIMOTHY ACKERMAN on Sept 25, 2010 10:42:54 GMT -5
Tim let her cry, her tears silent and unrestrained. It wasn't like his standard-issue navy undershirt meant that much to him. However, he had a feeling it would eventually, beyond the significance of him wearing it when he saw Gene for the last time. He knew he would get caught up in his work, perhaps forget her, for a time. But when he remembered... who knows?
She lifted her head from his chest, her face glistening, and brought her hands to her eyes, as if she couldn't figure out how they'd gotten wet. He longed to brush away her uncertainty, but he was feeling more and more like he didn't have the right to touch her this way and then leave her for a very long time. Timothy Ackerman had no claim on her; he was not part of her life.
That was as it should be. They had already chosen different paths, and should they meet again, so be it. But until then, it was necessary to say goodbye.
As he thought this, she began to speak. A few days was about as much as he had, himself. When they were children, time like this had stretched for years, but now that they were older and wiser, they knew that a few days was a short time indeed.
Then, suddenly, she was clinging to him, and Tim re-thought his earlier resolution. Why leave it up to fate to decide when they should see each other next? Being there, with their arms around each other, made him remember that he still loved her. It was a childish, innocent love that he had cherished from his youth, but it had the capacity of growth just as the boy had had the capacity to grow into a man.
He brought a hesitant hand up to her hair and ran it through the strands. "Genevieve," he whispered, his voice sad and thoughtful. "This captain. Where will he take you? Perhaps I could visit you..."
Tim suddenly had a thought that curled his insides. What if she didn't want more than this? An embrace in the dark and fleeting tears? Where she was going... was she leaving to be with someone she actually loved? Had she already found a man worthy of her?
If that were the case, did she ever want to see him again, after this?
"I..." he started, trying to speak past the sudden tension in his body. "Well, if you don't want to see me, I would... understand. It would be difficult, with me in the navy and you-" He nearly said 'married', but he stopped himself. "-elsewhere."
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