A/N: I have no idea what I'm doing. This idea came up rather… randomly… Neither my friends nor I have ever written anything like this… so… this will either be really stupid or entertaining. Or both. Whatever. Anyway… here goes my attempt at… something new. Also, any details from Scarlet Letter that are incorrect are… incorrect. I apologize. I'm not the best with details. Additionally, any anachronisms included are merely for 1. Entertainment and 2. Compensation for my lack of Puritan imagination. Any mistakenly used make-up terms are because I don't understand make-up. It makes about as much sense as rocket science, despite my being female. Also, excuse my terrible metaphors. I try. Anyhow, I don't own a scarlet letter or any other accessory that would designate me as an adulterer. I also don't own Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne or any inflated, obsequious, and loquacious language that such a novel entails.
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"Pleasure is very seldom found where it is sought. Our brightest blazes are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks." –Samuel Johnson
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A throng of bearded men, in sad-colored garments, and gray, steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods and others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes. They all stood anxiously, waiting to see the famed Hester Prynne, the so-called master of all sinners. Waiting to see the "naughty baggage". Waiting to see the mysterious woman who had committed the greatest sin in all of Puritan history: having a child by someone who wasn't her husband.
After the crowd held its breath for what seemed like eternity, the doors of the jail were finally flung open from within. Coming into view from behind the grand doors stood a black shadow, emerging into the sunshine. She bore in her arms a child, a baby of some three months old, whom she had named "Pearl", in a completely nonironic way. I mean, it wasn't like the baby was her source of life. Rather, the baby was the source of all her troubles. Despite what some Puritan authors may have claimed, Pearl did not keep Hester in life. Pearl was the root of all of Hester's problems. The scarlet letter splashed across her bosom for all the world to see. The ridicule she faced daily when walking through town. The longing for a man to respect her. The wish to be loved. Regardless, Hester remained between the immense prison doors. Though she stood erect, with her back straight and shoulders back, she still looked like an ant, shadowed by the cosmos of society.
Out in the observing crowd stood two very peculiar men. Both of these men were in one way or another part of Hester's life. Both were oblivious that the other existed.
Atop a platform that overlooked the large and growing crowd stood a man: Reverend Dimmesdale. He was the minister of the town. Ironically, he had sinned in the most un-Puritan way. In a completely accidental encounter with Hester after several rounds of tequila, Dimmesdale ended up sleeping with Hester. Neither remembered what happened on the night of drunkenness, but they could both make an educated guess.
Roughly 9 months ago:
The sun sneaked in through the curtains, leaving a glowing impression upon the two figures in bed. On the left side of the bed lay a young clergyman, who had come from one of the great English universities. His visage was dominated by a white, lofty, and impending brow that rested atop large, brown, melancholy eyes. He was a minister. Now that was ironic.
On the right side of the bed rested a tall young woman, with a figure of perfect elegance on a large scale. She had dark and abundant hair, so glossy that it threw off the sunshine that radiated into the room. Her face, which, besides being beautiful from regularity of feature and richness of complexion, had the impressiveness of belonging to a marked brow and deep black eyes. Her usual lady-like composure was replaced by a being about as composed as a blank sheet of music. Her regularly elegant hair sprawled out behind her a million different directions, her beautiful eyes were marred by smeared mascara, and her lips were sprinkled with an interesting pattern of lipstick that looked like a blind right-handed individual had stabbed her face with lipstick in his left hand.
Hester rolled over with a groan as the thousand pounding drums in her head increased in volume. It was as if a little army was punching the inside of her skull, threatening to crack it. She reached into the cabinet by her bedside and pulled out two tablets of aspirin. Grabbing a glass of water, she downed the two pills in one gulp. As she put the cup back down on the table, she spotted a black robe on the floor. Odd. Rubbing her eyes, Hester picked up the robe to inspect it, becoming more puzzled by the moment, until a necklace with a cross fell to the floor. Putting two and two together, she turned around quickly, and gasped when she saw a man on her bed, clothed in nothing but… well… a bed sheet. Such an exclamation roused the man and he immediately put his hands over his ears as the cacophonous drumming began in his skull. Hester handed him some aspirin, which he gratefully accepted. For a minute, they both just looked at each other and the various articles of clothing strewn across the room floor. Awkwardness filled the air and settled around the two beings. After an extremely awkward stare-down, the man, Dimmesdale, cleared his throat and got up. Hester immediately turned around and covered her eyes, wishing not to see the Reverend in his natural glory. Dimmesdale hurriedly ran around the room, gathering his belongings. Quickly thrusting on his boxers and hastily pulling his robe on, he began to walk towards the door. He tried to smooth out the crinkles in the robes with his hands to no avail. Before he could walk out the door, Hester stopped him.
"Um… I think you forgot something," Hester said in a tiny voice. She held out his necklace that had fallen onto the floor previously.
"Uh… thanks," Dimmesdale replied, with about as much class as a sixth grade boy who had just learned that girls existed. He grabbed the necklace in one graceless swipe and swiftly walked out the door.
In one fell swoop, Hester plopped back on her pillow and stared up at the ceiling fan. The oscillating blades ran in endless circles, just like her mind. What happened last night? Who was that? What am I doing? How stupid could I be? Could I be pregnant? Well, long story short: sex, the minister, I have no clue, very, and yes. Such questions ran through Hester's mind on a loop. However, before long, she succumbed to sleep; tired from… whatever had happened the night prior. One thought remained clear to her in her drunken haze: I JUST SLEPT WITH THE MINISTER. HOLY CRAP. WHAT HAVE I DONE?!
Present Day Prison
As mentioned before, there were two interesting men in the audience. One of these men was Dimmesdale. He was in an… interesting position. He stood above Hester (literally) but was an equal with her, in terms of severity of sins. The other important male stood at the back of the crowd. His tall frame stood out in the crowd, a frame that had survived numerous years and sported a pale, thin, scholar-like visage, with eyes dim and bleared by the lamplight that had served them to pore over many ponderous books. Yet, those same bleared optics had a strange, penetrating power, when it was their owner's purpose to read the human soul. In this case, the human soul was that of Hester Prynne. It should probably be mentioned that this man, who went by the alias "Roger Chillingworth", was Hester's husband. Naturally, he was not happy that his wife was standing between prison doors, clutching a child whom he knew he did not father. He began pushing his way towards the front of the crowd to find out what the hell was going on. It should also be noted that, as with almost all character names, "Chillingworth" is a very subtle clue to his nature. His heart could have been made of ice for all the world knew. How he had managed to seduce a woman such as Hester is beyond us all. Regardless, his coldness extended to other parts of his character. He liked to be in control. Being in control made him feel powerful, unstoppable, and god-like. The thrill of telling others exactly what to do gave him a rush that could only be rivaled by a few… sensual situations. The fear he saw in others' eyes as he yelled in his stern, unwavering voice only gave him more of a rush. You could say he was a bit… domineering, in every sense of the word.
Upon his platform, Dimmesdale spotted one lone figure moving gracefully through the crowd. Dimmesdale began descending the stairs to the ground to intercept this man.
"Hello good sir, may I help you?" Dimmesdale greeted.
"Yes. May you be so kind as to tell me what the hell my wife is doing over there with a baby in her arms?" Chillingworth demanded in a husky voice as he thrust his finger in the direction of Hester. Dimmesdale' mouth would have fallen to the ground had it not been secured to his head by his jaw. He blinked rapidly a few times before asking, or rather, shouting:
"Um… what? Sorry I couldn't hear you over the roar of this obnoxious crowd."
Chillingworth leaned closer to Dimmesdale's ear as he repeated his question in an equally deep and raspy voice:
"I asked: what is my wife doing over there?" Chillingworth repeated himself. It should be noted that as Chillingworth uttered the word "wife", a man bumped into him slightly from behind. This caused Chillingworth to pitch forward, closer to Dimmesdale's listening ear. His lips lightly grazed the tip of Dimmesdale's ear as he finished asking his question. He quickly pulled away after realizing what had happened. Dimmesdale just stared. Should I tell him I slept with his wife and impregnated her? Should I say something? What should I say? Why are his eyes so deep? I feel like I could stare into his eyes for hours. Wait. What? He shook his head vigorously as he tried to shake out any weird thoughts he had. He was about to open his mouth and spew nonsense when his legs disagreed with him. He let out a simple "sorry" before he turned on his heel and fled through the crowd. Chillingworth, taken aback by such a response, began to run after the minister as quickly as he could. However, the thickness and density of the crowd restricted his movement and adequately shielded the minister from view. The oddness of the whole situation had not gone unnoticed by him. Questions ran through his mind as quickly as his feet pattered on the ground. What the hell is going on? Who was that? Why did he act so weird? What is even happening? I am utterly confused.
As he continued to push through the unrelenting crowd, he uttered a line to himself:
"I will find that man and get to the bottom of this, whatever this is, if it's the last thing do!"
XXX Fin de Chapitre 1 XXX
A/N: Well that was fun! I might actually have enough motivation to write more of this! Basically, this is my attempt at light smut. Obviously, such an idea came up in a conversation between friends. This was quite enjoyable to write and hopefully I'll have more chapters up later. Please review and tell me what I'm doing wrong/right! Props to you-know-who-you-are for the title idea!