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Apr. 24th, 2012 05:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
witticasterThe Mummy, weddingfic or something like. There are more parts, but I'd like to take a break, pls.
Evy waits for the best possible time to have The Important Chat with Rick, and it doesn't take long to find it. Jonathan can be more like a stray cat than a real housemate--he goes out to who knows where on a fairly regular basis, and Evy doesn't care where so long as he doesn't end up in hot water--so it's just Evy and Rick, most nights. Evy and Rick and the books. Or, as tonight, Evy and Rick and the wireless.
She's never felt particular fondness for the wireless (why listen to a man read you the news when you can skim the paper twice as fast?), but Rick loves it. Loves the serials, loves the dramas, could take or leave newsreaders' monotonous programs. And his enthusiasm is contagious; she's grown nearly as fond of listening to broadcasted adventures as he is.
Part of the appeal is the company, of course, but London seems almost quiet now, after everything that happened in Egypt. Very nearly boring. For the first time, she thinks, she truly understands her father's inability to stay in England for very long. But the serials are exciting enough that she can ignore the way her feet itch for the dust of new lands beneath them.
They listen together that night as usual, Evy keeping her hands busy by rearranging books in the bookshelves. She's not sure how they came out of order while she was away, but here they are, and frankly, she feels like she could shoot sparks from her fingertips if she sat still. Rick, who has no such burdens to bear, lies splayed out on the settee with his eyes closed. Every once in a while, he mutters a response to the characters' dialogue, don't go in there without your gun.
When they're left with a cliffhanger for next week's installment, Evy snaps the wireless off and walks over to the settee. The books aren't entirely sorted, but no one's likely to notice the mess before she takes up the cause again.
"They're putting music on next," Rick says. He smiles lazily up at her, blinking in the lamplight as though he just woke from a nap. "We could foxtrot."
Evy shakes her head and finds a place for herself on the settee--with him taking up the entire thing, she ends up lying half on top of him, her chin resting on his sternum. "Let's just talk."
"All right." He's still smiling, but his brows have knit together in something of a playful frown. "What do you want to talk about?"
Evy grins up at him, and nearly every word she answers with is a lie. "Oh, nothing too important. The weather. What we're going to do tomorrow. Things that I know and you don't."
"You know something I don't?" He frames her face with his hands, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. "You didn't raise any more mummies, did you?"
"No, they're all still sleeping in their sarcophagi. I know something a little closer to home."
"They made Jonathan a Rhodes scholar."
Evy laughs. "And it has nothing to do with Jonathan."
"Then I give up." Rick shrugs. "I'm out of guesses. What do you know?"
Evy creeps up until she can lower her mouth to his, and he responds in kind. His mouth is warm, and his callused hands slide back through her hair and down to her shoulders, one leg hooking gently around her own. She breaks the kiss, primarily in the interest of actually sharing her news with such a damnably distracting fellow, then presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his temple. "You, Mr. O'Connell," she whispers, her lips brushing against his earlobe, "are going to have to make an honest woman of me."
"Oh, am I." Rick's voice is throaty, the smile on his face self-evident in the way he speaks to her. His fingers are massaging the bone and flesh of her shoulders through the linen of her blouse. "And why is that, Miss Carnahan?"
There's the point of no return, and it takes some fight to keep her voice as light and steady as it was previously. She's all confidence, she tells herself, she's quite certain this is news to smile at. "For the baby's sake, I should think."
He tenses beneath her, his hands suddenly still and lax on her arms, and out of some cowardly instinct, she tenses, too. She knows her smile has grown strained, even as she knows he can't see it, as certainly as she is sure that he has forgotten to breathe.
Evy begins to wonder why she'd imagined an inveterate rover would be happy to hear a request for marriage.
"You're--you're really--" Rick leans back to see her face. She's glad to have the opportunity to study his: the brow furrowed, the blue eyes wide, the mouth open just slightly. "Are--are you sure?"
Evy nods back, smiling but silent, and hoping that the rest of her expression doesn't belie the worry now blooming within the pit of her stomach.
"You're really--oh!" he exclaims, and leans back in to press a hard kiss to her mouth. "Oh, that's great. Evy, that's fantastic--oh, we're going to have to get married. D'you want to get married?"
"I was thinking we might elope," she says, laughing, and all her limbs are thrumming with relief. "I'm hardly going to make a good impression on the Bembridge scholars if we wait."
"Good point." His hands stray further down to the point where her waist curves out into hip and leg, no doubt surreptitiously feeling for some proof. She's sorry to disappoint him, but there's nothing to find--she looked that morning. "So...tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? It'll take some time to get the license, you know. Unless we went to France..."
"I've had enough of the French for this lifetime."
"We'll have to wait a fortnight, then." It's not ideal, but this isn't an old novel; they can't just run off to Gretna Green and be done with it. "Tomorrow we'll give notice, and we can spend the rest of the time making plans."
"Gives me time to find a suit, I guess. And to remember how to tie a tie." Rick grimaces.
Evy smiles up at him. "Don't be silly, darling, I can tie your tie for you. I hope you don't expect me in a veil."
"I expect you in something that makes you look gorgeous," he tells her, and pecks her on the forehead. "Wear anything."
--
"Oh, Jonathan?" Evy calls quietly, cracking open the door to his bedroom and peeking inside. "Jonathan?"
It's not without a measure of trepidation that she glances in--he got in after she went to bed, and she's not in the mood to walk in on him with a friend--but he's alone. Naked and no doubt hungover, but not a paramour in sight. And Evy has never had compunctions about pestering her brother.
A groan emanates from the lump of flesh lying spreadeagled amid the tangle of bedsheets, followed by an unintelligible mumble of words. Evy takes this as a good sign and goes to sit at the edge of his bed. "Oh, good. You're awake. Would you like to come to a wedding?"
"Hmm?" Jonathan lifts his head to look at her, though the pained expression on his face suggests that she just forced him to shoulder the weight of the world. His words are still a bit slurred--must have been one hell of a party. "Who's getting married?"
"Rick and I." She brushes a strand of dark hair back from his forehead. "You're going to be our witness."
Jonathan regards her for a moment or two longer before letting his head drop back to the mattress. "Some other day, old mum. I need my beauty rest."
"Two weeks from now," Evy tells him, bending down to kiss the crown of his head. He smells of rum and cigar smoke, but he is her brother. "If you're late, we'll put you in a frock and call you my bridesmaid."
"Capital idea," he mumbles, curling away from her. "Whatever you want. Good night, now."
Evy next sees her brother around one in the afternoon, when both breakfast and lunch have passed the poor sod by and she's busy collating notes on everything that happened in Egypt. He's clothed this time, because there are small mercies in this world, and sporting a deep frown.
She glances up at him with a little smile. "Good afternoon."
"Afternoon. Do tell me, Evy, did the green fairy deceive me, or did you come to visit me this morning?"
"You were drinking absinthe?"
"The particulars of my night aside--" though he does have the good grace to shuffle his feet a bit--"did we have a conversation this morning?"
"We did." This isn't bad timing, really. She could use a quick break. So she sets down her pen and turns to face him entirely. "It's to be nothing fancy, you can just come as you are. You'll be the only wedding guest, actually."
Jonathan's eyes light up like he's just solved a mystery. "Then you are getting married!"
Evy nods, supposing she brought this upon herself. The desire to tell Jonathan right away had overridden the good sense that stated clearly that he wasn't in any state to hear it. She doesn't make any effort to hold back her smile as she answers, "We gave notice this morning."
-
"Evy," Jonathan says, his hand closing gently around her free elbow. "Have you a moment, sister, dear?"
"We'll be late--" she begins, but Jonathan has already begun leading her away.
Rick's expression is a question in itself, brow furrowed, and he makes to follow. "I dunno what you're thinking of doing, Jonathan, but--"
Jonathan waves him off. "Can't a brother talk to his only sister on her wedding day? It won't take but a minute."
Evy glances back at Rick, who's paused where he stands, arms crossed, and gives him an apologetic smile. He smiles back. The softening of his expression is so sudden, so complete--and all for her sake--that she ducks her head before she realizes her diffidence.
When they're out of earshot of Rick, Evy looks up at her brother and tells herself to resist the urge to tap her foot. "What is it, Jonathan?"
His expression changes then, the usual, somewhat gormless enthusiasm settling into a frown of concern. In a low voice, he says, "Just want to make sure you haven't got cold feet, old mum."
-
Something that belongs much later in this story:
They lie in a heap on the bed, a mess of arms and legs lit warmly by the lamplight's glow, and Evy tips her head down to kiss Rick's brow. "That was wonderful."
"Yeah," he says absently, and nuzzles his cheek against her collarbone. "Even better'n usual."
"Mmm." She's inclined to agree with him. An afternoon of being Mrs. Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell felt little different from Miss Evelyn M. Carnahan, but the evening has proved a different beast entirely. "Speaking of which..."
"Huh?" Rick glances up at her, his brow furrowed.
"Nothing bad. Is there anyone we ought to send an announcement to? Family, or--"
"Well, you know." Rick's hand slides up and down the curve of her hip, mesmerizingly slow. "Jonathan knows. That's everyone for me--what about you?"
Evy strains to think of anyone who would care particularly and mostly comes up empty. "An old school chum or two, I suppose. I'm not particularly close to my cousins. Perhaps we can write Great-Aunt Hortense and let her know."
He grins. "You have a Great-Aunt Hortense?"
"And she's every bit as pleasant as you might guess." She delivers the comment with a roll of her eyes and lets her fingertips slip through Rick's tousled hair. "You probably won't have to meet her, but it would be polite to let her know. 'Dear Auntie Hortense, I've gone and married an American. At least I won't be a spinster like you feared. Your loving niece, Evelyn.'"
That gets a laugh out of him. "She sounds like a real piece of work."
"I should be kinder--I haven't seen her in years. I think the last time, she told me that I'd utterly ruined myself with university and that she hoped I wouldn't regret it."
"Pshaw." Rick kisses the crook of her shoulder, his nose brushing over her skin. "Shows how much she knows."
"You, darling, are an American. Your opinion doesn't actually count in her book." Years ago, Evy had learned not to put much stock in her aunt's opinions on anything; it wasn't hard to regard them as an amusement that night, even if they had once stung. "Of course, no one's opinions count quite so much as hers, and Lord help you if you care to change her mind."
"And we, uh, don't have to see her for Christmas or anything, right?"
Evy shakes her head, wide-eyed and innocent. "Oh, no. She detests the holidays; too much racket."
That gets a laugh, too, and another kiss to her neck. "Good. We'll have the noisiest Christmas possible, just in case."
Evy waits for the best possible time to have The Important Chat with Rick, and it doesn't take long to find it. Jonathan can be more like a stray cat than a real housemate--he goes out to who knows where on a fairly regular basis, and Evy doesn't care where so long as he doesn't end up in hot water--so it's just Evy and Rick, most nights. Evy and Rick and the books. Or, as tonight, Evy and Rick and the wireless.
She's never felt particular fondness for the wireless (why listen to a man read you the news when you can skim the paper twice as fast?), but Rick loves it. Loves the serials, loves the dramas, could take or leave newsreaders' monotonous programs. And his enthusiasm is contagious; she's grown nearly as fond of listening to broadcasted adventures as he is.
Part of the appeal is the company, of course, but London seems almost quiet now, after everything that happened in Egypt. Very nearly boring. For the first time, she thinks, she truly understands her father's inability to stay in England for very long. But the serials are exciting enough that she can ignore the way her feet itch for the dust of new lands beneath them.
They listen together that night as usual, Evy keeping her hands busy by rearranging books in the bookshelves. She's not sure how they came out of order while she was away, but here they are, and frankly, she feels like she could shoot sparks from her fingertips if she sat still. Rick, who has no such burdens to bear, lies splayed out on the settee with his eyes closed. Every once in a while, he mutters a response to the characters' dialogue, don't go in there without your gun.
When they're left with a cliffhanger for next week's installment, Evy snaps the wireless off and walks over to the settee. The books aren't entirely sorted, but no one's likely to notice the mess before she takes up the cause again.
"They're putting music on next," Rick says. He smiles lazily up at her, blinking in the lamplight as though he just woke from a nap. "We could foxtrot."
Evy shakes her head and finds a place for herself on the settee--with him taking up the entire thing, she ends up lying half on top of him, her chin resting on his sternum. "Let's just talk."
"All right." He's still smiling, but his brows have knit together in something of a playful frown. "What do you want to talk about?"
Evy grins up at him, and nearly every word she answers with is a lie. "Oh, nothing too important. The weather. What we're going to do tomorrow. Things that I know and you don't."
"You know something I don't?" He frames her face with his hands, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. "You didn't raise any more mummies, did you?"
"No, they're all still sleeping in their sarcophagi. I know something a little closer to home."
"They made Jonathan a Rhodes scholar."
Evy laughs. "And it has nothing to do with Jonathan."
"Then I give up." Rick shrugs. "I'm out of guesses. What do you know?"
Evy creeps up until she can lower her mouth to his, and he responds in kind. His mouth is warm, and his callused hands slide back through her hair and down to her shoulders, one leg hooking gently around her own. She breaks the kiss, primarily in the interest of actually sharing her news with such a damnably distracting fellow, then presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his temple. "You, Mr. O'Connell," she whispers, her lips brushing against his earlobe, "are going to have to make an honest woman of me."
"Oh, am I." Rick's voice is throaty, the smile on his face self-evident in the way he speaks to her. His fingers are massaging the bone and flesh of her shoulders through the linen of her blouse. "And why is that, Miss Carnahan?"
There's the point of no return, and it takes some fight to keep her voice as light and steady as it was previously. She's all confidence, she tells herself, she's quite certain this is news to smile at. "For the baby's sake, I should think."
He tenses beneath her, his hands suddenly still and lax on her arms, and out of some cowardly instinct, she tenses, too. She knows her smile has grown strained, even as she knows he can't see it, as certainly as she is sure that he has forgotten to breathe.
Evy begins to wonder why she'd imagined an inveterate rover would be happy to hear a request for marriage.
"You're--you're really--" Rick leans back to see her face. She's glad to have the opportunity to study his: the brow furrowed, the blue eyes wide, the mouth open just slightly. "Are--are you sure?"
Evy nods back, smiling but silent, and hoping that the rest of her expression doesn't belie the worry now blooming within the pit of her stomach.
"You're really--oh!" he exclaims, and leans back in to press a hard kiss to her mouth. "Oh, that's great. Evy, that's fantastic--oh, we're going to have to get married. D'you want to get married?"
"I was thinking we might elope," she says, laughing, and all her limbs are thrumming with relief. "I'm hardly going to make a good impression on the Bembridge scholars if we wait."
"Good point." His hands stray further down to the point where her waist curves out into hip and leg, no doubt surreptitiously feeling for some proof. She's sorry to disappoint him, but there's nothing to find--she looked that morning. "So...tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? It'll take some time to get the license, you know. Unless we went to France..."
"I've had enough of the French for this lifetime."
"We'll have to wait a fortnight, then." It's not ideal, but this isn't an old novel; they can't just run off to Gretna Green and be done with it. "Tomorrow we'll give notice, and we can spend the rest of the time making plans."
"Gives me time to find a suit, I guess. And to remember how to tie a tie." Rick grimaces.
Evy smiles up at him. "Don't be silly, darling, I can tie your tie for you. I hope you don't expect me in a veil."
"I expect you in something that makes you look gorgeous," he tells her, and pecks her on the forehead. "Wear anything."
--
"Oh, Jonathan?" Evy calls quietly, cracking open the door to his bedroom and peeking inside. "Jonathan?"
It's not without a measure of trepidation that she glances in--he got in after she went to bed, and she's not in the mood to walk in on him with a friend--but he's alone. Naked and no doubt hungover, but not a paramour in sight. And Evy has never had compunctions about pestering her brother.
A groan emanates from the lump of flesh lying spreadeagled amid the tangle of bedsheets, followed by an unintelligible mumble of words. Evy takes this as a good sign and goes to sit at the edge of his bed. "Oh, good. You're awake. Would you like to come to a wedding?"
"Hmm?" Jonathan lifts his head to look at her, though the pained expression on his face suggests that she just forced him to shoulder the weight of the world. His words are still a bit slurred--must have been one hell of a party. "Who's getting married?"
"Rick and I." She brushes a strand of dark hair back from his forehead. "You're going to be our witness."
Jonathan regards her for a moment or two longer before letting his head drop back to the mattress. "Some other day, old mum. I need my beauty rest."
"Two weeks from now," Evy tells him, bending down to kiss the crown of his head. He smells of rum and cigar smoke, but he is her brother. "If you're late, we'll put you in a frock and call you my bridesmaid."
"Capital idea," he mumbles, curling away from her. "Whatever you want. Good night, now."
Evy next sees her brother around one in the afternoon, when both breakfast and lunch have passed the poor sod by and she's busy collating notes on everything that happened in Egypt. He's clothed this time, because there are small mercies in this world, and sporting a deep frown.
She glances up at him with a little smile. "Good afternoon."
"Afternoon. Do tell me, Evy, did the green fairy deceive me, or did you come to visit me this morning?"
"You were drinking absinthe?"
"The particulars of my night aside--" though he does have the good grace to shuffle his feet a bit--"did we have a conversation this morning?"
"We did." This isn't bad timing, really. She could use a quick break. So she sets down her pen and turns to face him entirely. "It's to be nothing fancy, you can just come as you are. You'll be the only wedding guest, actually."
Jonathan's eyes light up like he's just solved a mystery. "Then you are getting married!"
Evy nods, supposing she brought this upon herself. The desire to tell Jonathan right away had overridden the good sense that stated clearly that he wasn't in any state to hear it. She doesn't make any effort to hold back her smile as she answers, "We gave notice this morning."
-
"Evy," Jonathan says, his hand closing gently around her free elbow. "Have you a moment, sister, dear?"
"We'll be late--" she begins, but Jonathan has already begun leading her away.
Rick's expression is a question in itself, brow furrowed, and he makes to follow. "I dunno what you're thinking of doing, Jonathan, but--"
Jonathan waves him off. "Can't a brother talk to his only sister on her wedding day? It won't take but a minute."
Evy glances back at Rick, who's paused where he stands, arms crossed, and gives him an apologetic smile. He smiles back. The softening of his expression is so sudden, so complete--and all for her sake--that she ducks her head before she realizes her diffidence.
When they're out of earshot of Rick, Evy looks up at her brother and tells herself to resist the urge to tap her foot. "What is it, Jonathan?"
His expression changes then, the usual, somewhat gormless enthusiasm settling into a frown of concern. In a low voice, he says, "Just want to make sure you haven't got cold feet, old mum."
-
Something that belongs much later in this story:
They lie in a heap on the bed, a mess of arms and legs lit warmly by the lamplight's glow, and Evy tips her head down to kiss Rick's brow. "That was wonderful."
"Yeah," he says absently, and nuzzles his cheek against her collarbone. "Even better'n usual."
"Mmm." She's inclined to agree with him. An afternoon of being Mrs. Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell felt little different from Miss Evelyn M. Carnahan, but the evening has proved a different beast entirely. "Speaking of which..."
"Huh?" Rick glances up at her, his brow furrowed.
"Nothing bad. Is there anyone we ought to send an announcement to? Family, or--"
"Well, you know." Rick's hand slides up and down the curve of her hip, mesmerizingly slow. "Jonathan knows. That's everyone for me--what about you?"
Evy strains to think of anyone who would care particularly and mostly comes up empty. "An old school chum or two, I suppose. I'm not particularly close to my cousins. Perhaps we can write Great-Aunt Hortense and let her know."
He grins. "You have a Great-Aunt Hortense?"
"And she's every bit as pleasant as you might guess." She delivers the comment with a roll of her eyes and lets her fingertips slip through Rick's tousled hair. "You probably won't have to meet her, but it would be polite to let her know. 'Dear Auntie Hortense, I've gone and married an American. At least I won't be a spinster like you feared. Your loving niece, Evelyn.'"
That gets a laugh out of him. "She sounds like a real piece of work."
"I should be kinder--I haven't seen her in years. I think the last time, she told me that I'd utterly ruined myself with university and that she hoped I wouldn't regret it."
"Pshaw." Rick kisses the crook of her shoulder, his nose brushing over her skin. "Shows how much she knows."
"You, darling, are an American. Your opinion doesn't actually count in her book." Years ago, Evy had learned not to put much stock in her aunt's opinions on anything; it wasn't hard to regard them as an amusement that night, even if they had once stung. "Of course, no one's opinions count quite so much as hers, and Lord help you if you care to change her mind."
"And we, uh, don't have to see her for Christmas or anything, right?"
Evy shakes her head, wide-eyed and innocent. "Oh, no. She detests the holidays; too much racket."
That gets a laugh, too, and another kiss to her neck. "Good. We'll have the noisiest Christmas possible, just in case."
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on 2012-04-25 01:26 am (UTC)/ever
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on 2012-04-25 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
on 2012-04-25 01:54 am (UTC)And watch this space &cet., because I basically stopped writing when I was cranky and hungry. I think there's quite a bit more that needs to be written, some of which I'll do my damnedest to get done tonight. o/