fic

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

title: Surfacing 2/?
author: pippinmctaggart
rating: this chapter PG for a few bad words
words: this chapter 4,530
warning: AU, angst, drama, h/c
summary: Principal Lighthouse Keeper William Boyd has a lonely existence as he watches over the storm-tossed seas from Dubh Artach Lighthouse. What happens when the sea deposits chaos on his doorstep in the form of Dominic Monaghan?

thanks: to tigertale7 for holding my hand through this whole thing and beta'ing along the way, to giddy_london, celtprincess13 and hyacinth_sky747 for the fantastic beta jobs, and to vensre for some last minute icon help! Most of all, thanks to voontah for the original idea and the song. None of this would have happened without her. ♥

notes: my thanks to the mods for allowing me to post a WIP, of which two chapters will be posted today. the rest will show up in my LJ as I get them done, and hopefully the story will be finished within a month or two. :)


But before the fic, a song! No, this is NOT a songfic. However, Ready For The Storm by Dougie MacLean was definitely inspiration both on the subject, and for my mood while writing. Download, listen, enjoy! Consider it a one-song soundtrack. :D


Dubh Artach Lighthouse



"Another week," Billy repeated, stunned.

"That's assuming they don't send a fishing boat sooner, just to check on you after that storm. They know your telegraph is broken, after all," Dom hastened to say. "So it's entirely possible--"

"No," Billy said bleakly. "No, I have to assume the worst potential outcome. It's the only responsible thing to do. There should be enough food for us, after losing the crew. Water will be fine, if we're not wasteful. It's the paraffin. I'll start rationing it tonight, keep the burners turned down a quarter spin. Four days of that, easily. May have to lose a burner after that, but..." He trailed off, suddenly feeling utterly spent. Desolate. Another week of nothing more than an hour or two of sleep here or there? Keeping up the equipment, cooking, cleaning, watching the light every night, all while so exhausted he wanted to weep? "I don't...I can't," he whispered.

Dom gripped his shoulder tightly. "I th--"

"I can't do this," Billy said, fingers clenching in his hair. "I simply cannot. How can I be expected to do the work normally done by four men? How can I possibly keep my wits intact on three hours of sleep a day, run up and down those bloody stairs and keep the light all night? I can't fucking do it!"

"Stop it!" Dom said, his voice like a whipcrack. "Billy, stop it. Of course you can't be expected to do it all, you're not super-human."

"I have to--"

"No, you don't." He gave Billy's shoulder a little shake. "Listen to me. I can help you. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but by Monday I should be able to get around a bit, if you can find me something to use as a cane."

"You most certainly cannot," Billy said, incensed. "I won't allow it. For God's sake, man, you nearly died! Do you honestly think I'm going to let you--"

Dom interrupted him again. "Yes. At this point, you really have no choice in the matter, Principal Light Keeper Boyd. If you want to keep that light lit, you're going to need help, and last I checked, I'm the only other somewhat-abled body about the place."

Billy turned on his bottom to look up at Dominic. "Don't misunderstand me, I beg you. I appreciate your offer more than I can possibly explain, but how could you feasibly help? You can't go sprinting up and down the lighthouse stairs, can you? You can't carry the paraffin or clean the windows or climb the rocks to haul in the trap."

"No, I can't. But I'll be able to do a bit of simple cooking. Write your logs for you. Sit upstairs and monitor the light at least part of the night. I can't do much, but what I can do is save you a bit more time for sleeping. And with that, we can get through this together."

"Dominic--"

"Dom," he said firmly.

"Dom. You are not bound to do this. I am. Save your strength and heal from your injuries so you can return to your wife and your Mam hale and sound. The lighthouse is my responsibility, not yours."

"I have no wife, and as long as my mouth still works, my Mam will consider her boy back to his former self," Dom smiled. "And you're wrong when you say I'm not bound, you know. You saved my life. The lighthouse may be your responsibility, but you are now mine."

Billy climbed to his feet, every bone in his body aching. He began to pace, trying to ease cramped muscles. "What, like some Oriental notion of a life debt? It's rubbish."

"I disagree. I might not term it a 'life debt', but our lives are now undeniably connected, and look set to remain so for the near future."

Billy was beginning to grow annoyed, although he wasn't entirely sure why. The pressures of the situation he found himself in were affecting his natural equilibrium, he supposed. He normally would have laughed such a concept off. "Call it what you will, the fact remains that you are in no condition to be put to work."

"And don't you think I'm the one who should decide what I can or cannot do?"

"Considering you've suffered a head wound, no, I don't think you are! You're clearly not thinking--"

"Oh, I'm thinking very clearly," Dom said, still smiling. "And the fact remains that you are my responsibility as much as I am yours, and I intend to care for you just as you are caring for me."

Billy threw up his hands. "Oh, for God's sake! The sea spat you out, and I'm beginning to see why!"

Dom laughed delightedly. "I can be a tad stubborn, it's true."

"Obdurate, willful, and utterly oblivious to the reality of your situation, you mean."

"We'll just agree to disagree for now, shall we? Now, Billy--"

"Unreasonable, pig-headed..." Billy muttered.

"Billy." He waited until Billy turned to glare at him. "The sea can't stop me, and neither can you. ...You poor fellow, you're simply exhausted, aren't you?"

Billy's glare slid, wilted, and died. His shoulders slumped. "You know I am."

"Get some sleep. I'll wake you at six, that's plenty of time to ready the light and get some supper, correct?"

"Yes, but--"

"We'll catch up with the work over the next few days. You have to get some rest, Billy, and you know it as well as I do."

Billy looked at him for a long moment, but finally gave in and nodded. "Do you need anything before I go?" he mumbled.

"A book? Your journals and logs, so I can see what gets recorded. And a glass of water would be lovely."

Billy fetched the requested items, made sure Dom had a chamberpot and the bell to hand, and then retreated to the sleeping quarters two floors down. He had no fears about the bell not waking him; the sound would echo deafeningly in the stairwell, easily carrying up and down three or four floors.

Wearily, he stripped down to his smalls and crawled into his bed. The utter luxury of a cotton mattress instead of a hard wooden chair, of a feather pillow and soft cotton quilt, was nearly enough to make him weep, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind before he felt himself dropping into a deep, dark well, and he knew no more.



*****



Billy sat up abruptly in his bed, lightheaded but instantly awake. From above came the brassy clang of a bell being rung, the sound pealing through the lighthouse like sunlight. It took him but a moment to recall what it signified. "I'm coming!" he shouted, knowing Dominic had heard him when the ringing stopped, the echo fading away.

Taking a moment to let his heart rate return to normal, Billy scrubbed his hands through his hair, hard. Even before he'd risen from his bed, he was already cataloguing in his head everything that he should get done that evening. With a sigh, he climbed out and dressed in fresh clothes, even though he himself wasn't precisely fresh. Perhaps it was time for a dip in the sea on the morrow, he mused, rinsing his face in the washbasin near the small window. It was a lot less trouble than heating the water for a bath, for one thing. A glance outside told him the wind was rising, skiffing whitecaps on top of the waves, and he mentally added the task of checking the ventilators in the lantern room. They'd need to be closed partway before the storm arrived, or the draw of the winds would cause the flame to flare too high, burning more wick and more fuel than necessary.

Billy headed up the stairs, pausing in the kitchen to stoke the cook stove and put the kettle on for tea before continuing on up to the parlour.

"The man that invented the feather pillow deserves a medal," he declared as he entered. "A knighthood. A kingdom."

Dom smiled, but he looked tired, wan. "Let's give him Canada."

Billy approached, studying Dom's face, then laying a hand on his forehead. "How are you feeling, lad?"

"Tolerably well, all things considered."

"You don't seem feverish, which is a blessing, but I'd best check that cut on your hip. It likely could use a fresh dressing." Billy fetched some clean bandages and salve, and then drew the blanket back just enough to uncover the wound, without putting Dominic to the blush.

The bruising was revealed in all its multi-coloured glory, and Billy sucked in a breath at the sight of it. "God above, but that looks like hell."

Dom looked down at his own chest and stomach, wincing. "It is rather...spectacular, isn't it? I'm turning into a perfect rainbow. Luckily, it looks worse than it feels, today. I think maybe the trip up here from my lovely seaside bed might have renewed it some."

"I wish I'd known," Billy said, regret writ plain on his face. "I'd never have carried you over my shoulder."

Dom smiled up at him. "I'm quite pleased you did, myself, since there seems to be a shameful lack of litters on this fine island."

Billy knelt beside the chaise and removed the bandage covering the cut that ran from Dominic's hip to his thigh. "You must have the constitution of a draught horse," he commented as he inspected the skin surrounding the stitches. "You laid in your filthy clothes for days, and yet this shows no sign of infection."

Dom peered down at the row of neat stitches. "Did you do that?" he asked in surprise.

"Last I checked, I'm the only other somewhat-abled body about the place," Billy teased, echoing Dom's words from that morning. "I'll put some salve on it, nonetheless. No point in tempting fate, is there?"

"What's in it?"

"The salve?" Billy opened the small pot and began spreading the thick ointment on the laceration with one delicate finger. "Mostly arnica, calendula, and hypericum in honey. A few other things, I think. My sister puts it up every year and sends some with me for the unavoidable cuts and scrapes one gets working here." The salve applied, he rebandaged the wound and pulled the blanket back into place. "There, that should help some. Now, lay down again and take a wee nap while I get us some tea. I really shouldn't have let you talk me into sleeping that long, not when you're still in such need of rest yourself."

"I'm all right," Dom began, but Billy cut him off.

"All right, yes, but your face is three shades paler than it was this morning, and the circles under your eyes are beginning to make a liar of you."

"But--"

Billy glared at him, although from the twitch of Dominic's lips, it wasn't precisely fierce. "I'll hear no 'buts' from you, my lad. You'll sleep until tea or I'll dose your oatcakes and knock you out until morning," he threatened.

Dom lifted his good hand in surrender. "Enough, enough, I'll nap. When did you meet my Mam, anyway? That impression was absolutely uncanny."

With a chuckle, Billy helped him adjust his pillows to lay flat. "Your Mam sounds like an eminently sensible woman. I'll wake you for tea."

Dom closed his eyes. "Tea. Maybe tomorrow I can manage to help a bit." His voice softened, deepened with the weariness he could no longer hide, and Billy knew despite his protests, the young man was not very far from sleep already. "I wish you didn't need to wait on me hand and foot. You have enough to do. Time I pitched in and earned my keep..."

Shaking his head, Billy turned down the oil lantern, picked up his Stores Log from the desk, and retreated to the kitchen. Finding the kettle already boiling, he made a pot of tea and set it to steep. He set the heavy cast iron pan on the stove to heat up, and as it did so, in a crockery bowl he mixed up a stiff, mealy dough. Within a few minutes, Billy was rolling it out and cutting it into quarters, and he laid the quarters in the skillet to fry. While the oatcakes were cooking, Billy used the time to check on his food stores. He'd become adept over the years at estimating how much oatmeal, flour, and sugar were left in each sack, and while some items were getting low, at least he had no fears of he and Dom running out of food before the next tender finally arrived.

That task finished and the oatcakes cooked through, Billy returned to the parlour, taking their tea with him. He quietly set the tray on the table beside the chaise, pouring two cups and adding a bit of sugar to Dom's. He brought the armchair closer and sat for a few minutes, listening to the sound of the strong winds outside the 'house, sipping his tea, watching Dom sleep.

The younger man had sandy-coloured hair, a rounded nose, and an off-kilter chin that Billy assumed was the result of a broken jaw when he was a child. It was a unique face, to be sure, but a handsome one for all of that. His mouth was thin, his lips pale and pink and open slightly as he slept.

Billy tore his eyes away, uncomfortable.

After a few moments, he leaned over and put a hand on Dominic's shoulder. "Dom?" he said, not raising his voice. "Do you want tea, lad?"

An incomprehensible mumble answered him.

"Dom."

"Mph. Hmm?"

"Tea?"

"Yes, please," he croaked, then sluggishly opened his eyes. "It's getting dark. What day is it?"

"Still Saturday," Billy smiled. "And it's a little dim in here because I turned the lamp down." He rose, turned the wick back up, and then helped Dom to a sitting position before handing him his tea.

Dom took a sip, and sighed. "Oh, I needed that. What smells so good?"

"Just some oatcakes," Billy said, passing him a small plate with a golden brown quarter on it, broken into smaller, more manageable pieces.

"Wonderful," Dom breathed, then added, "Thank you, Billy. I truly appreciate all the work you're doing on my behalf, I hope you know that."

"Pfft," Billy waved him off. "I normally cook for four, it's certainly no trouble to make do for just the two of us."

"Trouble or no," he insisted, "I am immensely grateful."

"You're very welcome," Billy said, then added, "Now eat, Dominic."

Dom sketched a salute. "Yes, sir!"

Making a face at him, Billy poured himself more tea. "So do you have another name, Dom? You're a Northerner, that's plain."

"Monaghan," he said around a small mouthful of oatcake. "Manchester, Da's a foreman in the mines."

Billy raised an eyebrow. "Your da works underground in a landlocked city, and yet you're a sailor. How did that come about, then?"

"Da expected me to follow him into the mines, but I couldn't stand the thought. The weight of all that rock hovering right over my head, just waiting to come crashing down and bury me alive?" He shuddered. "Not for me, that life. And in Manchester, it was either that or the mills, trapped inside all day for a pittance; but I had to do something outside, in the wind and rain and sun. With eight kids at home, Mam was a genius at making ends meet, but I decided one less mouth to feed would help more than the one pound a week I could bring in. So I left."

"How long ago was that?" Billy asked, putting another oatcake on Dom's plate.

Dom screwed his face up, thinking. "I was sixteen, so...twelve years ago?"

"You're never twenty-eight!" Billy exclaimed. "I would have guessed you at twenty-one or -two!"

With a grin, Dom shook his head. "I'm getting downright ancient, so I am."

Billy snorted. "If you're ancient, that would make me Methuselah. So tell me, how does the son of a Mancunian miner end up at a Scottish lighthouse?"

"Bad luck?" he joked. "I originally went to Liverpool, thought I could get a job on the docks, thought I'd like being by the sea. Did that for some time, and then I ended up being hired aboard a Scottish fishing boat that had lost three quarters of her crew in the storm of '95."

"I remember that one," Billy nodded. "I was working the shore station at Ardnamurchan; we lost our boat, three sheep, and one hundred yards of fence to the seas. The road was washed out, too."

"It was terrible," Dom agreed. "The fisherman who owned the boat said he lost seven men, and they were blown so badly off course he wound up limping into Liverpool instead of Girvan, where he sailed out of. So I signed on with him, and he taught me everything he knew about fishing and captaining a boat. He died in 1900, and another bloke sailed me up to Glasgow, said there was plenty of work there. Turned out he was exaggerating about that, but I managed a job on a freighter that ferried cargo to Dublin, and from there wound up in Oban. It was just being in the right place at the right time that got me aboard the Pole Star. I wasn't half thrilled to get a steady job with the Lighthouse Board, let me tell you. And that was last year."

Billy appraised him anew. "I've been here eight months out of this past year. I don't remember seeing you before."

Dom, surprisingly, turned a little pink. "I remember seeing you."

Taken aback, Billy could do nothing more than look at him for a moment, then cleared his throat. "I--I reckon I'd best get the washing up done. More tea before I take the pot?"

Dom wordlessly held his cup out, not meeting Billy's eyes. "Thank you."

"Enough with the thanks," Billy said gruffly. "Consider yourself welcomed." After pouring Dom the remainder of the tea, he loaded the empty dishes onto the tray and returned to the kitchen. With a kettle of water warmed on the stove and a few soap flakes, Billy quickly completed the washing up, determinedly not thinking about his guest upstairs. Instead, he focussed on the sounds of the storm rising outside the lighthouse, the storm he'd known was coming. He prayed there were no smaller ships nearby; he didn't think he could bear watching another vessel in trouble any time soon.

Billy tidied up the kitchen, putting everything away in its proper place, before ascending the stairs once again. He found Dom reading the Daily Journal, and so left him to it and continued on up to the service room to prepare for the evening lighting. Valves opened (not fully, in order to conserve the paraffin), wicks trimmed to the proper length, and mechanism wound, he climbed up to the lantern room and drew the curtains, taking his first proper look at the building storm. Rain lashed the windows, and the high winds carried sea spray up to drench everything. With heavy, dark clouds scudding overhead, he made the decision to move the lighting time up; night would fall much faster in that weather. He shut the ventilation openings down by half to prevent the wind whistling through and drawing the flame up, making sure none of them were closed tight. On a cold night like that, condensation would more easily build up inside the glass if there wasn't some air movement. Taking another look around to make sure he hadn't forgot anything, Billy returned to the parlour.

Dom sat with the Daily Journal still open in his lap, finger tracing over the words written on the page. There was a furrow between his brows, and he looked pensive.

Billy sat in the armchair opposite. "Dom?"

"'Storm worsening, winds fifty to sixty knots'," he read, his voice a bit flat. "'Seas rough with 40 foot swells.' The one that heeled us over was sixty if it was an inch."

"That was written about an hour before," Billy said quietly.

Dom continued as if he hadn't even heard. "'Pole Star listed to starboard, took on water. Witnessed two men swept overboard.' Probably Jimmy and Nico, they had been trying to secure the rigging. Did one of them have his hair back in a long black plait?"

"I don't know," Billy said, trying to speak gently. "I couldn't see from here, even with my glass."

"No. No, I don't suppose you could, at that." He paused, and then read, "'Ship went down at the bow, sank at 11:23 pm, August first, 1905, all hands presumed lost.'"

Billy's gut twisted at the words. "Dom, please."

"It's so remote. So strange, reading such plain words about something so..." Dom trailed off. "The noise of it all, is what I remember the most, the terrible noise. The wind howling, lines snapping, wood groaning. Men shouting and, at the end, screaming." From the storm outside came a long, rolling rumble of thunder. Dom shuddered. "The thunder. Dear God, it was loud, out there in the midst of it. And then, of course, when it was plain she was going down we jumped for it. I came up near Alex, I tried to get to him. He was the youngest on board, it was only his second trip, and I didn't even know if he could swim. But the wind whipped a wave straight into my face, and when I could see again, he was gone in the darkness. And it was cold, so cold. I shouted for the others for a few minutes, but if they answered, I didn't hear them over the storm. So I set out for the lighthouse; thank God for you and your light." Dom's face was tipped down, and he stared at the fingers of his right hand as they repetitively skimmed over the bandaged splint on his opposite arm again and again. "The current was carrying me parallel to the island, I had to swim as hard as I could, I didn't think I was going to make it. A wave picked me up, then, and dashed me against the rocks, and that's when my leg broke. I thought it was worth it, a measly broken leg in return for reaching solid land, only I hadn't quite reached it yet, because I was pulled right back out, where the next wave caught me and threw me in again."

Billy stayed silent, watching him.

"I'm not sure how long that went on," Dom continued after a moment, his voice raspy now. "I couldn't grasp hold of anything before the sea pulled me out again. I just kept being tumbled about, battered by the sea and the rocks, until finally a wave larger than the rest tossed me up higher, and I reckon I managed to cling on until I was free of the water, and I hauled myself up onto that shelf where you found me." He rubbed his forehead, as if it pained him. "I was in and out of consciousness the rest of the time. I tried shouting a few times, but that only made my head worse, and I doubt I was loud enough, besides. I thought...I thought I'd survived the sinking, survived the storm, survived the sea, only to die broken and starving a hundred feet from help." He swallowed thickly.

"But you didn't," Billy said softly. "And I have one question for you."

Dom looked terribly weary. "What?"

"Who's Byron?"

Startled, he lifted his eyes to Billy. "What?"

"Byron. When I first found you, I could hear you talking, and you told Byron you'd rip his wings off," Billy smiled.

Dom was surprised into a small laugh. "That's right. My bosom friend and companion. Byron is a gannet, a big bastard at that, and he was around almost constantly from that first morning. He stayed a fair distance from me to start, but when I didn't move all day, I think his curiosity got the better of him, and he crept closer and closer. I thought I heard a voice at one point, coming from the rocks above me, but it turned out it was just Byron, and I cursed him roundly."

"Ah, hence 'ripping his wings off', if he was tricking you again. Why 'Byron', though?"

Looking away from Billy, Dom said, "Well--he--I mean to say, for one thing, he had a limp. And of course Lord Byron walked with a limp for much of his life."

Billy cocked his head. "And for another?"

"And for another..." Dom sighed. "I'd been reading Childe Harold, my copy of which is now at the bottom of the North Atlantic, I might add. And one passage in particular kept slithering through my brain, until in my disoriented state I started reciting it to the bloody bird, and then I just called him Byron, and now you'll think I've lost my faculties entirely!"

Chuckling, Billy said, "Not at all, lad. What was the passage about?"

Dom hesitated, then began to recite.

"Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar!
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead!
Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed,
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale,
Still must I on; for I am as a weed,
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail. "

Billy leaned back into his chair, once more bewildered beyond telling by the young man in front of him. "A seafaring son of a miner who also recites Romantic poetry by heart," he murmured. "You're full of surprises, Dominic."

Dom dragged his eyes up to meet Billy's, and his face flushed. "Have you read Byron, then?"

"Indeed, I have."

"What about--what about Wilde?" Dom stammered.

"Aye," Billy said quietly.

"And--and I'm sure you've read Shakespeare's sonnets."

Billy nodded once.

"A-and Marlowe? Whitman?"

"Dom--"

"You know what I mean, don't you?" he said, sounding almost desperate. "Please, just--"

Billy rose to his feet, looking down at Dom with something akin to sympathy on his face and something uncomfortably sharp in his gut. "Yes, Dom, I do know what you mean." He paused, then gently added, "And that's an end to it." Without waiting for an answer, he crossed to the stairs. "Time for the evening lighting," he said, his voice fighting to reach normal. "It's early tonight thanks to the storm, but I'll be up and down throughout the evening. If you need anything, just ring the bell, and I'll come down straightaway."

Dom didn't say anything, but his face was flaming.

"Dom," Billy said, standing on the first stair and looking back. "You need fear no judgment from me. All right?"

Dom nodded jerkily.

"You're not alone," Billy said gently. "But I'm not the one for you."

Comments

[capra-maritimus.livejournal.com]

"You're not alone," Billy said gently. "But I'm not the one for you."

Famous last words.

*snicker*

Lovely story! And the plot thickens. :D:D:D:D:D

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

Hee! Billy thinks he knows best. He has no clue. :D

[alassenya]

Ah, so subtly done - wonderful.

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you very much indeed!

[sandelwood]

Such a pessimist, Bills.

Also, did you happen to tour this lighthouse? I wonder just because your description of it is so detailed, like you know the layout. And I like that. little thing like that make stories for me sometimes.

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

No, I didn't, although now I would dearly love to! As you can see from the picture, it's not very accessible and these days it's automated, of course. I just did a metric fuckload of research, and while there aren't many details about Dubh Artach in particular, I sort of mishmashed what I could together from descriptions and plans and stuff of other lighthouses. And then reminded myself over and over what level I'd put everything on, lol! So thank you very, very, very much indeed, I'm relieved all that work was worth it! <333

[voontah.livejournal.com]

"Oh, for God's sake! The sea spat you out, and I'm beginning to see why!" Love it! And love how Dom is able to talk poor overtired, overwrought Billy back down.

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

Hee. I should have known you'd pick out my favourite line (so far, anyway)!

These two really will have to depend on each other for a bit, so I'm glad you like how they've begun. :D

Also, I totally should have used that pic in your icon! ::facepalm::

[vensre.livejournal.com]

!! ::clutches heart::

I don't remember the last time something got to me this way.

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

Oh, Ven, thank you! What a truly kind thing to say. ::hugs::

[giddy-london.livejournal.com]

Oh, Pip, the lit nerd in me absolutely adores the end of this bit so much. (And I'm going to die laughing if that Byron passage shows up on my English Romantics exam tomorrow!) I know I said this the other week, but I really do love the wonderfully detailed descriptions you've written and the interaction between Billy and Dom. It's just... lovely.

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

Hee! I think your school talk must have influenced my brain, no? I was chatting with tigertale7 and I was all "omg, this just took the most bizarre turn into a veiled discussion of homoerotic poets, wtf!" ::throws hands in air:: I don't know what drugs my brain is on sometimes.

Good luck with your exam tomorrow, duckiest! I can't wait to hear if Childe Harold is on the exam. :D

[silentdescant.livejournal.com]

omg, pip. the research and detail you put into this is amazing, it makes the whole story richer and more real. and that last bit, with the poetry? god. beautiful. *love*

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

Thank you so, so much! I must admit, the research was starting to KEEEEEEEEL ME, and I'm sure it will continue to be difficult, but I'm glad like crazy to hear it's worth it. It's good to know someone besides me likes the details! :D

I'm really pleased you're enjoying it, sweetie, thank you. <3

[babydazzle.livejournal.com]

This is so friggin' fabulous. Awesome job outing Dom. That was seriously well done. I love this so much!!!

"Oh, for God's sake! The sea spat you out, and I'm beginning to see why!"

Quintessential Billy! So funny!

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

Yay! You picked out my favourite line. :D

Thanks so much, sweetie, I'm so pleased you're enjoying it!

[darkerbreed.livejournal.com]

*adores* The detail in this is simply wonderful.

[pippinmctaggart.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much! I worked hard at making it as accurate as I could historically, so I'm pleased you enjoyed the details. :D

[mysteriousaliwz.livejournal.com]

Ohhh, so lovely. And I adore that bit with the poetry and their veiled allusions to that which must not be named :)

[glass-moment.livejournal.com]

Oh, bravo! That whole last section was just absolutely brilliant! I can't wait to see where this goes.

[vandathiel.livejournal.com]

This is so beautiful. I love that you did so much research. I feel like I'm there (and really enjoying being a voyeur).