SKIM THIS CHAPTER FOR PLOT, BUT MOVE ON TO READ CHAPTER TWO AFTER IF CRACK IS WHAT YOU LIKE
A/N: Hello there dear followers/readers! I recently re-read Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice", and while the book is not perfect, it deeply moved me. The concept of a strong, bold woman in the misogynistic, woman-oppressing 1800s delighted and intrigued me, so I decided to write a little something along those lines, set in the same age, loosely related to the canonical works. (I'd like to add that we still live in a world that often oppresses women, but one in which the oppression and sexism is not usually as blatant and commonplace/accepted as that in 1800s England, please-don't-lynch-me-thank-you.) This fic is… self insert, but not of myself — rather, the self insert of some random cooky-cutter character into these things.
This is planned to be a continued series of jokingly aware semi self inserts into random books (and I have no idea how long each "book" will be), so please, if you're not into that go ahead and click away. Some will be really wack, some will be reasonably realistic, some will be mostly fluff, and some will contain an amount of blood that Quentin Tarantino, and only Quentin Tarantino, thinks is normal.
This fic is a fluff rated T for violence, slight language, and kissing. There will be no lemons. There will be attempted rape refferenced, but fear not, nothing explicit. Please keep in mind that I cannot predict how each story will be. This first will, for the most part, be fluff and politics. The one I have planned for the Hunger Games will probably have more gore than romance, and my plan for Narnia will probably end up being a total crackfic in which I troll everyone involved cause I know exactly how it ends. So, each one will have something that makes them interesting/different. I'll list what each one will be in the beginning A/N, so do go ahead and read those.
This is probably the only chapter of the work which will be done in first person, and is necessary for plot. The others are in third person, because first person is annoying as all heck for everyone involved.
Enjoy, and please do comment! They really help me keep going!/strong/p
"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me." (Elizabeth Bennet, Pride And Prejudice)
Chapter One
"Zale, get your butt down here!"
A groan emanates from the barely-awake wreck that is me and I roll out of bed, stumbling down the stairs to find my mother and father, arms crossed, glaring at me. I scratch my head and look at them. "What?"
My mother's voice is high. It always is when she's angry. "ANOTHER FIGHT!? REALLY, ZALE!?"
Ah, so that's what this is about. I shrug. "Yeah, what about it?"
My father's voice is quiet. It always is when he's angry. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't start any more fights."
I rub my eyes, and immediately regret it when a spike of pain shoots through my left one. "First off, I didn't start the fight. In fact," I continue, seeing as my mother's mouth opens to yell again, "there are plenty of witnesses that will tell you Marco started the whole thing when I asked him to stop. Just in case his parents are threatening to, you know, sue." My mother's mouth snaps closed and I continue. "Secondly, we didn't agree on jack squat."
My father speaks again. "We agreed you wouldn't fight anymore, Zale. We spent three hours of my office time talking with you."
"Oh, no. No, see, you agreed for me, with each other. I never agreed to anything, you simply assumed I would go along with your decision. I respect and love you both, despite the fact you love your work more than you love me, but I turn eighteen quite soon, after which you can no longer dictate every little part of my life. It's time to let me go a little, guys. It's 2021, and I can't live with my parents till they die, like you did with yours."
My parents' glowering has intensified, and my father speaks even lower, clearly furious. "We've always been there for you, and you want to leave us now?"
I snort out a laugh. "You've always been there when I need to be yelled at. When I was beat up all those years, were you there to talk to their parents? No, you yelled at me for inciting other children to violence. All you did was blame me for everything that happened. I appreciate the work you've put into giving me a home. I appreciate you putting food on the table. I appreciate you being responsible adults. But you were never there for me when it mattered." My parents both look like they're about to explode, but I pay them no mind. "Now if you'll excuse me," I say, going back up the stairs, "I need to sleep off these bruises. You can — as I'm sure you're itching to — yell at me to your hearts' content when I wake up." The floorboards creak beneath me, as I leave my parents behind./p
My mother, however, calls out after me. "Zale, what about Rachel? Isn't this your date night with her?"/p
I turn to look at her. "Rachel and I are done."/p
She breathes out a sigh, but I know she can sense a victory. This is how my mother fights battles — she jabs where it hurts the most. "You always find a way to lose the good ones, don't you?"/p
I smile widely at her, so she knows it's not a sincere smile. "It's hard to keep someone when they've decided it's fun to mess around with another someone behind your back, mother dearest."/p
And with that being said, I go into my room, slam the door shut, and drag myself back into bed. I'll be majorly screwed when I wake up, but at this point I couldn't care less. The darkness slowly envelops me, and I gratefully accept the drop into being unconscious. At least today can't get worse./p
Somewhere up above, God (or whoever runs the universe) is laughing his ass off/p
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From the journal of Lady Evangeline Thornewood
February 16th, 1826
Father tells me he has found me a husband. I confess I grew quite angry with him when he told me. Every prospective husband he has brought me thus far has been a snivelling wretch, and because wives are supposed to be demure, I'm forced to politely listen to their pitiful arrogance. "I killed two foxes the other day when hunting," they boast to me. But what glory is rightfully won in this? You killed small, scared creatures, creatures that have done you no harm (aside from perhaps a chicken or two), and you kill them with a rifle as you sit upon a horse! And they expect me to think them great? Urgh. Well, we shall see what this most recent possible-husband-to-be is like. Father had meant to mock me, telling me he had brought another lamb to the slaughter, but I quite like his approach to the issue. I shall slaughter the ego of any puffed-up fool who believes me a prize to be won.
February 18th, 1826
The news is not good on the husband front. Lord Elijah Newman is his name, and he seemed to be as chauvinistic and puffed up as the rest. I thank God that father has allowed me to reject suitors, though he grows weary of me doing so, and I fear I shall have to do it again soon. I hear I shall meet him in a week or so. Alyssa tells me her husband is bearable, but that there is no true love lost between them. Such a marriage feels fruitless to me. If I am to ever marry, he shall be someone of whom I approve, not just someone those fat, bitter old women gossipping about others' lives to feel better about their own do. On a happier note, I had another sword fighting lesson with Monsieur D'Agnan yesterday, and he says he has rarely taught someone as skilled as I, regardless of sex. T'would be a falsehood if I was to claim it did not make me proud of all the work I have put into training myself. Almost proud enough to forget last week's debacle. Lord Worthington and I sparred, and upon his nearly instantaneous loss (for he is an overweight slug, and has not a jot of fencing skill) he grew irate and claimed I was a whore — and a cheat at that. I've heard the first before from every man I've sent away, so it bothered me not. The second, however, was not something I was used to, and so I find myself quite unhappy. Why must men be so insecure? Just the other day, I heard two lordlings nearly come to blows over the supposed sizes of their manhoods. That again seems like a rather ridiculous thing to base one's pride in, but what do I know? I'm not a man. Or a boy. And whenever I begin to wish I was, they once again do something so stupid I find myself once again rejoicing I am not one. Why are all men arrogant pigs?
Chapter Two
The moment I wake up, I know I'm not in my bed. I'm in A bed — that's clear enough to my senses — but not MY bed. I snap up. I'm in the most enormous bed I've ever seen, with draperies hanging around me. That's the first thing I notice. The second is that there's no TV in my room. No phone, no laptop, no tech. The room itself is clearly nice, with large mirrors, obviously comfortable chairs, and a huge wardrobe, but it's not any place I've ever seen before.
My inner voice is panicking. What the- okay so clearly, I've been kidnapped.
But my second inner voice (who I didn't even know was there until just now) speaks up too. Seems like a little bit too nice of a place to be kidnapped in, don't you think?
The second voice, as suspicious as I find him, is making sense. Why would I be kidnapped? My parents have consistent jobs, but as a family we're not exactly rich, and they're definitely not important enough to have any kind of pull in the grand scheme of things, and this, if a ransom situation, is clearly top-tier ransom kidnapping. I don't have any more time to think though, because the doors burst in, and two kids burst in through a door off to the right, and jump into the bed with me. For a second I have the irrational fear they're somehow here to kill me, until they start cuddling up to me. "Hey Eli?" one of them says with thick British accent, "Why weren't you awake to say hello to us when grandma and grandpa brought us back?"
Who the heck do these kids think I am?
Some kind of person named Eli.
Why thank you, Sherlock.
You're welcome, Wattson.
I hush the voices in my head before turning to the two little boys. "Uh… I was, um, tired? I had a long day yesterday."
"I'll say," comes another voice from the door, this one clearly older than any of the rest of us in the room. A guy who looks like my older brother, if I was to somehow actually have an older brother, is standing there. "You know Michael, you know George, Eli has a new prospect at marriage so obviously, he's very nervous." The two boys giggle and poke me, but my mind is racing. I'm going to be honest with myself, I have no idea what is going on here, but clearly I either have amnesia and false memories, have been kidnapped, or am in some kind of fanfiction. Okay, well, yeah, that last one is more of a personal joke, but this does seem really, really weird. Too weird to be anything normal. I suppose that nothing bad has happened so far, so maybe I should play along? I turn to the older guy. If I'm going to do this, I'm going to go over the top — British accent and all. "Well, 'tis no small matter, having a prospective bride."
He snorts. "You act as if this isn't the dozenth time you've had one, little brother."
I grin as if I know what he's talking about. "Well, maybe this will finally be the one."
Another snort. He turns to George and Michael. "Alright chaps, go ahead and go to your lessons." They leave whining, and he turns to me, serious. "Elijah, are you okay?"
Quick, think of something! "Completely!"
"Bollocks. Listen mate... I hope you won't take this poorly, but you're, well, different this morning."
Crap. "Like what?"
"Like, you aren't being a terrible human to our brothers. You're being kind to them. Any other day of the week, you'd throw them out of your room in a heartbeat."
So I was a complete jerk before.
He rubs his neck uncertainly. "I just… there's something off."
You're telling me, buddy. "I thought it was time for a change."
He smiles at me, a large one. "Well, I hope the change continues. Maybe you'll actually not completely mess up being a suitor again."
"Yeah. Mind if I get some privacy though? I just need to think a little bit."
"Sure." He takes one last, long look at me. "You know I love you, right?"
"You've made it quite clear, yes."
Another smile, soft this time, as he leaves the room and closes the door.
What the actual heck is going on?
You expect me to know? I provided the energy, not the science of this.
Why am I speaking to myself like I'm different people?
Shut up, Zale.
Yeah, shut up Zale.
Shaking my head, I stand up. There's something deeply strange about this. These people were all speaking with British accents, and now that I think about it, even without trying anymore, I am too. It's almost as if I'm a different person. But when I look in the mirror, I'm clearly me — Average height, shaggy hair, ears like those elves in the Lord Of The Rings, stupid ever-present smirk which never seems to leave my face. I go to the wardrobe, to get some clothes on, but stop. This thing is full of clothes, but it looks like the clothes the aristocracy would wear in the 1800s.
You idiot, you sent him HERE?
He was reading it right before we decided to move him around!
Okay, clearly these voices aren't my inner voices. Deciding I'm definitely mad, I hazard an attempt at communication. Uh- Hello there! Can you please explain what's going on?
The voices leap into what seems to be an already memorized set of lines. Welcome to the hottest reality show of Xebulon 5, Zale! Your mission is to find a good ending for yourself. If you do this, you'll be given a chance to participate again, or to go back to your normal life. If you die here, you're dead in your other life, so please do be careful. We placed some heavy bets on you, here.
Wait, I think, so I'm actually dreaming?
Well, not exactly dreaming. Merely living another life in the span of what, a minute?
Three minutes, the second voice answers.
Oh yeah. So we stuck you in that book you were reading before that rather awkward argument with your progenitors.
My eyes widen. Pride And Prejudice?
Bingo!
Wait so I actually am in some kind of fanfiction?
If that's how you want to see it, sure.
How do I know I'm not just in some kind of weird coma? If this is my coma dream, none of this is real.
Is it worth the consequences if you're not in a coma?
Touché. Also... aliens? What?
Irrelevant to what you need, really. They exist, you're on a TV show for them, the rest is need-to-know and you don't. They have some kind of fascination with humans ever since Earth was destroyed by a Vogon fleet in our dimension.
Woah.
Yep.
And you guys can help me with this whole thing?
The second voice speaks again. Oh, dear no. No, we're just here to broadcast to the Xenobrians and explain the basics to you, which we have now done. I had no idea we would be sent here, and I don't think my coworker did either, no matter how much he may attempt to bull his way through this.
Hey! /emSays the other voice. emI did too know!
The second voice chuckles. emMhm sure, tell that to Slartibartfast. He wanted to send the boys to those Ice Age movies — he had some beautiful fjords he was quite proud of there. /ememAnyway, have a good one Zale. Or Elijah, I guess. Don't die, because that would be a horrible experience for everyone involved, and do enjoy as much as you can. Also, act as if we don't exist. The last time someone tried to talk about us and the show, they were sent to a psychiatric hospital. And psychiatric hospitals in the age they were experiencing meant cold showers, little food, and torture. So yeah, do be discreet.
Understood. I just wish you had told me, you know, the moment this all happened.
The reactions are some of the best takes for the show, so sue us.
First voice intercedes. emHe doesn't mean that literally. Please don't sue us, the legality of this is kind of a gray area, and would be messy for everyone involved./em/p
The voices instruct me how to fit in the clothes afforded, and then leave me be. If I'm honest this is freaking me out, but it's not like I'm going to change anything by not taking this seriously. I'm either insane or they're telling the truth, and things can't really change if I act differently either way. I'm pretty sure one of my friends talked about something like this happening when he was high, but I thought it was a product of the massive blunt in his fingers. Maybe he had this happen, but since he was always high no one took him seriously anyway. I shrug to myself. Well, nothing for it. I have family bonds to reknit.
Chapter 3
Living life in Britain as an 1800s aristocrat is actually quite fun, regardless of how much I may miss my phone. I learn to ride, much to the amusement of my siblings. Apparently, the past Elijah had refused to ride horses, calling them "dumb brutes good only for the pulling of carriages, and too wild to be ridden by any sane person". Well, I can't deny that maybe riding them is a little insane, but dumb brutes they are not. All it takes is a look into their eyes, and you can see the sinister genius of the eyes' owners. Every time I see their gazes land on me, I shiver — horses are intelligent beings, and I just pray they never grow opposable thumbs to revolt against the humans who have made them captive. Thankfully, I picked riding up quickly, though I think I'll always be a little terrified of horses from now on. We went hunting, but I found it boring, and a little cowardly. I suspect I'll decline any hunting invitations that come my way from now on. My time is much better spent reading their books (and boy do they have books) and learning to fight "the polite way", with swords. I am, in every sense of the word, mediocre. I'm not terrible but I don't think I'll ever be a prodigy or master of the blade in any way. I'd much rather use my fists or a knife — to the shame of my combat instructor. The only problem I've found so far is that British aristocracy is, for the most part, self-absorbed and full of hedonistically selfish bigotry. Clearly, I had work to do, but it would take time.
You do realize your acts here have no impact on your world, right? Voice Two asked me one day.
Yes.
So why try to change anything?
Because no matter if anything changes, the right things are alway the right things. We don't do right because we'll gain something from it, but because it's the right thing to do. That applies here too. And to be fair, this IS my world, at least for some time now.
You're quite interesting, Zale.
I try.
My sword instructor is a great old guy by the name of Monsieur D'Agnan, but the poor fellow is quite at his wits' end with me, as I've thumped him over the head with my fist when in a sword lock, and apparently that's "ungentlemanly", or something along those lines. Here's my question — why should I care about being gentlemanly if someone is trying to stick something sharp in me? Pardon my French, but you'd better bet your ass I'll thump anyone on the head if they tried to mug me, and I'll cut them up if they keep pushing. Regardless, I'll try to do better for the old chap.
Matthew (my "older brother"'s name) is apparently not the Lord, just my regent or something of the kind. My story-parents did some sort of weird thing where they granted him secondary Lordship, but wanted me to be the official guy. All for the story plot, I suppose. You know what's really weird? I remember my actual life, but that one actually feels like the dream at this point. I go riding in the mornings, read in the evenings, and take my lessons in the afternoons. I'm living a whole life, and right now this is the real one, so I think my mind sees it that way.
Finally, the hardest part of this entire thing has come — I have to meet the girl who might be my wife someday, and I have to do it in a huge social setting. I hear she's quiet, demure, and shy. Not sure exactly how I'll work with that, but I've got to try. Big day tomorrow, and odds are that I'll mess it up.
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From the journal of Lady Evangeline Thornewood
February 24th, 1826
I met him and… I, well, I do not hate him. I think I shall start from the beginning. When we first arrived in our carriage, he came clopping in after us, laughing with his brothers who were in their own carriage. When he dismounted, he kissed his horse on the nose fondly. This itself was strange, as I had been told he loathed horses. Before he could see us, our family had gone into the ball, but he came in a couple of minutes later. I admit I was nervous, and could not help but look at him. He was attractive, yes, but the rumors of his character served to dispel anything else good about him. Not only this, but he was short, and like all the short men who wished to court me, he was sure to have an inflated view of himself, fueled by petty jealousy and bitterness that a woman should be taller than him. After he was announced, he turned to his elder brother, and seemed to be making an inquiry after something. Apparently he was inquiring after me, for he approached soon after, and bowed (somewhat awkwardly, might I add) to my father, and then to me. And then, I make no pass at humor, everything I say here is true, he ran his hand through his hair and said (and I quote) "I must confess I'm terrible at custom and protocol. I suck at conversation, and I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing with my hands right now. May I talk to you?"
I laughed, I admit it. "We talk while we dance here, Lord Newman." He proceeded to choke on his drink, and stare at me. "I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, Lady Thornewood… I can't dance." T'was my turn to choke. "A lord," I coughed out, "who is unable to dance? What is this?"
"Well," (and I swear to you, journal, he grinned) "I never quite got the hang of it, so as long as you're okay with my too-tight boots stepping on your toes and my hair getting in your eyes, we shouldn't have any problem." A short man who wasn't overcompensating for his height? I believe in miracles now, dear journal. So I took him aside, and he did step on my toes some, but it was amazing nonetheless. He had the most delightfully satirical wit, and when he spoke about being terrible at small talk, and I said "The answer is perfectly simple, for you need intelligence and grace to be good at it, and clearly you lack those" he simply laughed and conceded that might be true. I allowed myself to be pulled away for a couple dances, as did he (and he did not do terribly — thanks to my teaching, I will flatter myself) but in the end we once again met and danced. He loathed hunting, which was the opposite of what I had been told of him, and delighted in my dreadfully harsh comments, whether about himself or any other personage.
"You're not at all what I had expected," I told him.
"You're not at all what I expected either," he responded. And then I went back to father, who teased me dreadfully, and he went back to his brothers, who I believe did the same to him.
In essence, I believe I would not mind at all meeting him again. But we shall see, there have been many suitors who have acted well the first meeting and like the boors they are the rest, so I must keep my guard up. I will message cousin Elizabeth, and see what she can counsel me in this situation.
Chapter Four
Wow. I mean, just, wow. So this girl I'm supposed to marry is an absolute savage. Like, who would have expected it, am I right? And savage in a good way. Whoever told me she was shy must have been deaf AND blind. I've made plans to come visit over at her place, so maybe that'll be fun. One thing I noticed is that she seems stressed, which I guess is what happens when you're forced to be an adult from a young age. Whatever we do, maybe getting past this challenge won't be so hard.
I'm spending the next couple weeks doing more lessons, so maybe I won't embarrass myself again. As I train, I once again have to ask myself why I try to make changes, if they'll never last. And once again, I remind myself that change is good because it's good. And I'm seeing changes. I've formed a small group of seemingly affluent boys and girls of my age. My change appears to have begun one in them, but this is just the beginning. Sure the guys are less prideful and more kind, and sure the girls are starting to speak out, but we're still in our younger years. I still have work to do. And if things go well, I'll have Evangeline with me. Maybe with her, I can make a better change.
When I finally meet with Evangeline again, we meet in a fencing gym, much to my surprise. Monsieur D'Agnan sees me and pales. "You."
I send him an all-too-bright smile. "Me."
Evangeline looks between us. "You two know each other?"
"Mademoiselle, this lad could very well be a fair fencer, was he not preoccupied always with leaving his blade aside and turning to his fists or knife. As it stands, he is the bane of my existence."
"Well I am to be the bane of his, for today we spar."
I'm fairly certain I'm doomed, because this girl looks like she knows what she's doing. Sure enough, when D'Agnan calls for us to take our positions, she immediately snaps to Tierce. I sigh, and snap out a jab, which she instantly parries and turns around on me, a counterjab which I barely manage to dodge. She follows up with a flurry of strikes, and if it's all I can do to knock a few aside, and step back to avoid the rest. Before I realize it, we're on rocky ground, not gym floor, and I'm in major danger of tripping on it. I try to take advantage of the terrain change, but she's shifted to Bonetti's defense, and I can't get a strike in. Finally, she turns me around and backs me in a corner, and gets a strike in with a quick Thibault double-time deflection. I manage to get one point in before the end of the combat, but she's clearly the superior at this. When D'Agnan calls for the end of the match, I throw my mask aside and, laughing, shake Evangeline's hand. "That," I tell her, "was incredible. That was the most badass thing I've ever seen."
She looks puzzled. "Badass?"
"I apologise. This is a sometimes crude term to refer to someone who has done something incredible, difficult, and not common, and done it calmly. Something fantastic, surprising, marvelous."
She sends me a smirk. "Where did you ever hear such terms, my dear Lord Newman?"
"I, uh… I entertained some gentlemen from America."
"The Colonies?"
"Indeed."
"And how are they after we burned their Capital?"
Oh yeah, that happened in 1812. "They're recovering quite well. In fact, I suspect they will become a major world power in a very short time."
"Really? 'Tis the belief of most that they will die out."
"I understand that, but if you look at the kind of people who make up America, you'll see they're the kind of people who can make an empire out of nothing."
"I cannot negate that," She laughs, and I present my arm to her (I've been told that's the polite thing to do at this point in time), which she takes and we head towards her house.
I wouldn't mind hanging out with this girl more.
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From the journal of Lady Evangeline Thornewood
May 30th, 1826
Elijah Newman has officially requested father's permission to court me (he did it, may I add, weeks ago, upon his eighteenth birthday), and seeing as he's the first I have not rejected within the first weeks, I think father is quite happy about this happening. I would be lying if I was to say I did not have hope as well. There is something… different about Elijah. It is as if he is from here but at the same time a stranger. He's so different, so… new. He refuses to conform to the rules that many consider unwritten law, but as he has formed a group with some of the most powerful young Lords and Ladies from around England, there is none who would dare challenge him at the moment. Politically, at least. It continues to both amuse and frighten me to think of what happened the last time someone tried to do so.
Francis Mellanova — a braggart and fool who had thought himself worthy to be a husband of mine at one point — found Elijah and began to throw what he thought were small jabs at him. He had heard of my accepting Elijah in courtship, and was, I believe, irrationally jealous and bitter. He seemed to believe he had had some form of chance and that Elijah had stolen it from him. He began with small snide comments, but as Elijah is so, well, Elijah, rather than answer in kind he answered the comments brightly and happily. Part of me still wonders even now if he knew that Francis was attacking him, for it seemed as if he recognized the insults not. After some time of Francis continuing to do this, a large group had gathered round them, and Francis seemed to be growing flustered, for Elijah would not show any kind of anger at what was being said. Finally, the dam burst and Francis stood suddenly. "I will not take this disrespect," shrieked he, "from a man who stole my future bride, walks about as if he is King George himself, and believes himself some kind of Messiah incarnate, despite having a father who drank himself to death and a whore of a mother who died because of the first!"
You will not believe what Elijah was like, for I have never seen anyone so calmly furious. He looked at Francis, and said "Firstly, my parents died on a sea trip to assess land in The Colonies. Secondly, old chap, Evangeline is not YOURS, and neither is she MINE. You have no claim on her, for she is her own woman. She chose me, and the day we're married she will be mine and I will be hers, but until the day we — God allowing — tie the knot, we won't belong to each other." A small quiver of his cheek was, dear journal, the only sign of a building anger. "Don't you dare claim that she was your belonging, as if she was some trophy to be won, or chair to be bought. You disgust me. Finally, I don't have anything against your mother — she's quite the excellent Lady, if I may say so. As a matter of fact, I do believe she's here today." He turned to Mrs. Mellanova, bowed to her, and kissed her hand. "I must ask you though, madam, what terrible thing you did in this world to deserve a child such as this."
"I know not," she replied, "but I apologize for such behaviour."
"Milady, it is in no way your fault that your son is how he is. As a matter of fact, I would love to have you come to the Newman Manor next week, in order to talk over some business with you. Would this be favorable to you?"
"Quite!"
"Excellent! It's decided! What say you to Tuesday?"
"I can come in the morning for some time."
"Delightful. Now, what's your opinion on-?"
And just like that, arm in arm, he led Mrs. Mellanova away into discussion, leaving her son a spluttering wreck behind them.
Elijah turned to me before leaving the room, and said "Eva, dear," (Eva, he called me! I suppose I'll allow it, but he's in for a sword beating the next time we see each other.) "I'll leave you to deal with this chauvinistic boor, shall I? I know you can defend yourself well enough."
I quite enjoyed lowering Francis' opinion of himself a good amount more.
It was the most fantastic thing I've ever seen, though I do fear for Elijah's life now, as Francis is party to some very foul men. Well, hopefully nothing will happen to Eli. I wouldn't mind spending more time with him, I think.
Chapter Five
It happens, and though I was expecting it, it sends me into a panic.
It's been a year or so since the situation with that angry little guy claiming Eva was his or some insanity like this, and since it's been so long since it happened, I allow myself to hope it's blown over. Hah. I'm an idiot. It happens when we're at a ball (because where fricking else would we be on a weekend. I'm beginning to hate these things). She goes for a walk, and because I think she'll be safe here, I don't go with her until a couple minutes later. I hear a single scream as I'm leaving the building, and immediately know who it is. I go running towards where the sound emanated from, knife drawn, and jump over a hedge to find Eva holding a boy in a headlock, and another on the floor groaning.
(A/N: Just bringing to everyone's attention that Eva did not have a sword with her, as it wasn't permitted for women to have them when out in society. Probably not at all, but especially when out in society. Don't be angry with me. Thank you.)
She looks up at me as I come running in. "Is this the correct way to hold him?"
I nod, and when he finally passes out, she comes over and hugs me, both trembling just a touch.
When we go back into the mansion, and report what happened, a woman's voice speaks out. "Well it's her fault! The foolish child shouldn't have gone out without accompaniment!"
My voice is low. "From now on, any woman who wishes to learn the ways of the blade will have Newman Manor as a place to learn them."
A voice speaks up next to me. "Aye!" My group has come around us, as if to shield us from the hostility of those who surround us. Robert Dorena, first in line to the trading empire of the Dorenas, is the one who speaks. "And any woman who wishes to carry such a blade will be under the Dorena family's protection! Women often make excellent fighters, as I have seen from our mercenaries from foreign nations, so there should be no reason to not allow them to train to protect themselves. I stand with Lord Newman and Lady Thornewood on this matter."
And right when I think my heart can't take any more, every other person in our group steps in to assert their support for us.
Voice One speaks to me at this moment. We see what you mean by doing the right thing now. These people are, in some form or another, real. This may not be YOUR reality, but it is A reality. And you mean to do right by it. Your ratings have got quite up.
I recognize what it says with a nod, but nothing else.
The era of change has begun. The change is not immediately apparent. In fact, it's barely noticeable at all at first — but it's there. Women start to walk around in pants when they want to, rather than only dresses. Corsets are a thing of the past. It's more and more common to see women carrying blades, and more and more common to see men laughing with them and challenging them at sports, rather than laughing AT them and excluding them. Small things, but things that will add up. Women begin to join the military. Sure, it's mostly still men, and I have a suspicion it will always be so, but the point is that women have that OPTION. They have that CHOICE. There's still so much to change, but change is happening. The years pass and I almost don't notice them. Our group has become a major party in the parliament, and those who aren't in it have strong influence over its decisions anyway.
Oh yeah, and now I have Eva with me. But I think I'll let her tell that story.
I really do love her. I'd love spending the rest of my life with her.
POV CHANGE POV CHANGE POV CHANGE POV CHANGE POV CHANGE
From the journal of Lady Evangeline Newman
June 8th, 1831
As you can probably tell, my darling journal, Eli proposed a few months ago, and we married last week. He laughs that though he technically has the seats in parliament he is useless at politics, while I am the one who makes the decisions. He never ceases to amaze me, as he seems to mind not a whit if I am the one to make the choices, and tells everyone who will listen that I am the brains of the operation. I sometimes wonder if my husband is not some magical creature from another world. He remains the best at philosophical debates and international affairs, but I allow him to have those small victories — he still cannot beat me at fencing. The old aristocracy is fighting change with everything they have, but soon forced marriages will be illegal, and each will have their own choice. So much has been possible, however, as cousin Elizabeth and her husband, Mr. Darcy, have thrown themselves wholly behind us in this project of ours. I hope that one day I shall have a daughter who can choose her own husband, as I have. I hope that I will have a son who will view his wife as an equal, as my husband sees me. I hope that I will one day live in a world where women can take place in Parliament (this does seem more probable, as a movement for this is already in motion). This is what we work for. A better future for all of us.
I really do love Eli. I would be overjoyed to spend the rest of my life with him.
Epilogue
I "pass away" at the unheard of age of ninety-seven, and find myself surrounded by white mist. It's a room that seems to stretch away to infinity, perfectly white and Where am I?/em And then I remember. I remember that my name is not Elijah, but Zale. Or maybe it's both. But the core of who I am, at the base of everything that's happened — I am Zale Williamson.
Voices One and Two are there, and they leap at me squealing. Small blue creatures, they look a lot like Smurfs.
"You did fantastic!" Says One.
"Indeed," says Two. "We won a ton of money on you."
I laugh, but then grow serious. "What about that world? Is it actually real? Does it end when I leave? Does time end?"
"What is time?" Says Two to me. "You yourself know that you've been asleep practically three minutes at this point. To your parents, you had a fight less than 240 seconds ago. And yet you feel that you've lived an entire life. So yes, technically the world ends when you die. And yet, to them, there is an eternity before that ending. To them, human life continues till the end of their universe."
"I see."
"No you don't. Not yet. But you will."
And I see that my wife dies a week after I do, in her sleep. I see our children change the world. I see humanity take to the stars, habitate planets, and finally, after millenia, I see humanity die out. The last human to exist is a Newman. And she sees the end of the universe with a smile on her face, at the age of ninety-seven. I see millions of years and their events in an instant, and my eyes widen.
"Now," says One, "would you like to return to your actual life, or repeat the experience? The same rules will apply, but with one difference. You will not remember THIS life until you return to your other body. If you continue on, you will remember the skills, the abilities you learned in your previous lives, but you will have no recollection of the events that transpired. It will be as if you just fell asleep and just woke up again. We will explain what's happening when the time is right, and you will live another life. You may find other Vivids while in other worlds, especially in the more popular ones, but what you do is up to you. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Well, except for the 'Vivids' part."
"Vivids are others who, like you, are living these experiences out."
"Ah, I understand."
"So, what's it gonna be, buddy boy?"
"But what do I get out of this?"
"You get to live out another life. You get to live out the fantasticality that you find within the movies you watch and the books you read. And when you return to your actual life, if you don't die, you'll have the knowledge of however many lives you've lived, and you'll be able to apply them."
"There may also be Ramen coupons for life involved," says Two.
My head snaps up, and I find myself alert. "Ramen? I'm in."
"Well then…" says Two. "See you again soon, Zale."
A/N: Why yes, hello there. The next chapter shall be Narnia (and a total crackfic), but after that, if anyone happens to be following the series, the vote will be up to all of you. So, leave a comment, tell me what you thought, tell me what story you want to send lil Zale into (Byyyy the way, Zale means "Pacific Strength" in some random language) I know it seems like Zale recognizes and accepts everything that's going on really quickly, but I'd like to point out that it's not like he has a choice. He's either insane, dreaming, or it's real, and either way there's no harm in playing along, nahmean? Okay, have a good one folks.