( whilst only in pauper's clothing and hunched, atticus still commands an imposing presence, attenuating the resplendence of the apparel of the constable and soldiers. men of a thousand affectations, all false, wilt in the company of one so confident of himself. the three soldiers quickly make their leave, all but one keen to return to the festivities and forget the incident. the hare lip soldier with his inimical bearing stops and glances over his white crossbelt at atticus. although he would also return to the festivities, he would surely not forget the incident nor the insolence from him. when miss bennet stands next to atticus, the soldier sneers but leaves without further incident. atticus's gaze remains on him until he vanishes behind a weaver's stall. the constable also vanishes, accepting atticus's proposition and the soldiers' agreement as an agreeable enough verdict to consider the matter closed.
his body is bowed low enough that he's almost eyelevel with miss bennet. determination strengthens her brown eyes — like an oak tree, hard and durable enough to withstand the tempestuous storm raging in his green eyes. he relents, shoulders sagging as he looks away. if they want to help him, he shall grant them the indulgence, however much he'd prefer to tend to his injuries singlehandedly. he does not wish to offend them by spurning their benevolence when it is extended on friendship alone. after today, he no longer has the luxury of conceivably forming any additional friendships or alliances in the town so he must rely on what remains.
his mouth works as if a seed is caught between his teeth. ) Fine. I concede. ( his words were a hand, their generous offer a bear trap; and he now attempts to snatch the hand away before the trap snapped shut. ) To a three night stay. I leave the fourth day. I shall not infringe on your hospitality any longer than is necessary.
( forsooth, he does not wish to remain in the same house with mrs. bennet for long and be forced to endure her presence — and she him. a person's home is their refuge and he'd dare not take that away from anyone, even mrs. bennet. however, they have at longbourn what he does not at avalon: an icehouse, though being late in the season, its reserves may still be stocked enough even after the summertime ice cream and cold drinks. the mere possibility of cool relief, even in a drink, softens his reluctance to bivouac there.
the sun's light, once cherished before, now burns his eyes and stabs at his brain. the linen of his shirt becomes harsh against his skin; biting, irritating, and stinging. enough eyes still remain behind to gawk at him. the rancor behind his teeth fades and an overwhelming discomfiture washes over him, pulling him under its waves. he wants to disappear. he hates being the center of attention, the enthrallment of others directed at him is an ill-fitting coat on his body. not like this. he can endure whispers and stares under his own terms; out of view and immediately forgotten, but not when agony burns through his crooked body, shutting itself up in his bones, and he is weary with forbearing. it sickens him, almost more than the injured ribs themselves, and nothing more is desirous than to depart and melt away before his father's voice rings in his ears.
wordlessly, he turns on his heel and lumbers away, the usual gracefulness that defines his body gone. as the merry apple fair is some miles away from longbourn and mr. and mrs. bennet are not inclined to walking, he assumes they rode a carriage here, so he starts towards the track. it would be convenient if they encountered squire howarth so atticus can beg him to keep dustros until he returns from his convalescence at longbourn. alas, their paths do not cross, and he resolves to send a message as soon as he can. )
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his body is bowed low enough that he's almost eyelevel with miss bennet. determination strengthens her brown eyes — like an oak tree, hard and durable enough to withstand the tempestuous storm raging in his green eyes. he relents, shoulders sagging as he looks away. if they want to help him, he shall grant them the indulgence, however much he'd prefer to tend to his injuries singlehandedly. he does not wish to offend them by spurning their benevolence when it is extended on friendship alone. after today, he no longer has the luxury of conceivably forming any additional friendships or alliances in the town so he must rely on what remains.
his mouth works as if a seed is caught between his teeth. ) Fine. I concede. ( his words were a hand, their generous offer a bear trap; and he now attempts to snatch the hand away before the trap snapped shut. ) To a three night stay. I leave the fourth day. I shall not infringe on your hospitality any longer than is necessary.
( forsooth, he does not wish to remain in the same house with mrs. bennet for long and be forced to endure her presence — and she him. a person's home is their refuge and he'd dare not take that away from anyone, even mrs. bennet. however, they have at longbourn what he does not at avalon: an icehouse, though being late in the season, its reserves may still be stocked enough even after the summertime ice cream and cold drinks. the mere possibility of cool relief, even in a drink, softens his reluctance to bivouac there.
the sun's light, once cherished before, now burns his eyes and stabs at his brain. the linen of his shirt becomes harsh against his skin; biting, irritating, and stinging. enough eyes still remain behind to gawk at him. the rancor behind his teeth fades and an overwhelming discomfiture washes over him, pulling him under its waves. he wants to disappear. he hates being the center of attention, the enthrallment of others directed at him is an ill-fitting coat on his body. not like this. he can endure whispers and stares under his own terms; out of view and immediately forgotten, but not when agony burns through his crooked body, shutting itself up in his bones, and he is weary with forbearing. it sickens him, almost more than the injured ribs themselves, and nothing more is desirous than to depart and melt away before his father's voice rings in his ears.
wordlessly, he turns on his heel and lumbers away, the usual gracefulness that defines his body gone. as the merry apple fair is some miles away from longbourn and mr. and mrs. bennet are not inclined to walking, he assumes they rode a carriage here, so he starts towards the track. it would be convenient if they encountered squire howarth so atticus can beg him to keep dustros until he returns from his convalescence at longbourn. alas, their paths do not cross, and he resolves to send a message as soon as he can. )