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dolevalanTitle: Prologue
Fandom/original: Othello/Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Characters: Jonathan Strange, Desdemona
Rating: G
A/N: The first in a series of requested crossover drabbles. This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gileonnen, and began to run away with me a little. Eheh. (Also, she will be pleased to know I did a small bit of research. A very small bit, but still.)
Every mirror was a doorway. It was a fundamental property. So when Jonathan Strange left Venice through one and found himself, upon emerging, still in Venice, he was more than slightly put out. What was the point of wandering for hours by fairy road to emerge in a different neighborhood of the same city?
He stepped out of the room into the dim torchlight of an alley with a ceiling, or perhaps a passageway with no walls. Strange could seldom be bothered to find such things out. He had the vague intention of finding another mirror where (he hoped) he would meet with better success, when a young lady came round the corner and ducked into the same cluster of shadows he himself inhabited.
“Excuse me – ” he began, but she turned, holding a finger to her lips, expression imploring. Though vexed, Strange was enough of a gentleman to comply, and sure enough, a few moments later, running footsteps passed nearby. They approached, they came, and they went; all the while the girl did not breathe.
Strange took a moment to study her. She was pretty, he supposed, as such things went, sweet and blond and aristocratic, though there was a stubborn slant to her jaw. A dark cloak was wrapped around her, preventing her from seeing much besides her face but it was, in fact, her shoe that attracted Strange’s attention. It was an altogether odd sort of shoe, with a lift just below the ball of the foot, which he would have imagined would make walking difficult.
By the time she spoke, Strange was absorbed in the shoe, for all intents and purposes having forgotten it was attached to a young woman. He was almost startled when she said in a low, sweet voice, “Good sir, my thanks for this. Had I seen you ere I ducked in this shadowed arch, I’d have surely passed by, but you have all my deepest gratitude for raising no alarum.”
Strange tilted his head. Her speech was almost as odd as her shoe. Antiquated, surely, and he somehow couldn’t be certain whether she was speaking in English or Italian. But he said, politely if absently, “Think nothing of it, madam.”
She seemed, for the first time, to take notice of Strange himself, and seemed to equal his surprise. But even so, she said, “I pray you, sir, if you will do one more favor for a lady you know not, tell none you’ve seen me, most especially for the next quarter hour. Mark – you saw me not.”
He smiled a bit, despite himself. The young lady certainly had spirit. “I assure you, young lady, I will be silent as the grave.”
“The very picture of a gentleman.” She smiled, and he saw that he was wrong; she was not pretty, but beautiful. “When next I see you, I will do you any good I may, for this aid to my dearest happiness.” She curtsied (in those shoes! It was a marvel.) and slipped away, back into the night.
Strange watched her go and was inexplicably sad, for just a moment. But, as he was never one to linger on such feelings, he shrugged to himself and wandered away to find another mirror.
Fandom/original: Othello/Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Characters: Jonathan Strange, Desdemona
Rating: G
A/N: The first in a series of requested crossover drabbles. This is for
gileonnen, and began to run away with me a little. Eheh. (Also, she will be pleased to know I did a small bit of research. A very small bit, but still.)Every mirror was a doorway. It was a fundamental property. So when Jonathan Strange left Venice through one and found himself, upon emerging, still in Venice, he was more than slightly put out. What was the point of wandering for hours by fairy road to emerge in a different neighborhood of the same city?
He stepped out of the room into the dim torchlight of an alley with a ceiling, or perhaps a passageway with no walls. Strange could seldom be bothered to find such things out. He had the vague intention of finding another mirror where (he hoped) he would meet with better success, when a young lady came round the corner and ducked into the same cluster of shadows he himself inhabited.
“Excuse me – ” he began, but she turned, holding a finger to her lips, expression imploring. Though vexed, Strange was enough of a gentleman to comply, and sure enough, a few moments later, running footsteps passed nearby. They approached, they came, and they went; all the while the girl did not breathe.
Strange took a moment to study her. She was pretty, he supposed, as such things went, sweet and blond and aristocratic, though there was a stubborn slant to her jaw. A dark cloak was wrapped around her, preventing her from seeing much besides her face but it was, in fact, her shoe that attracted Strange’s attention. It was an altogether odd sort of shoe, with a lift just below the ball of the foot, which he would have imagined would make walking difficult.
By the time she spoke, Strange was absorbed in the shoe, for all intents and purposes having forgotten it was attached to a young woman. He was almost startled when she said in a low, sweet voice, “Good sir, my thanks for this. Had I seen you ere I ducked in this shadowed arch, I’d have surely passed by, but you have all my deepest gratitude for raising no alarum.”
Strange tilted his head. Her speech was almost as odd as her shoe. Antiquated, surely, and he somehow couldn’t be certain whether she was speaking in English or Italian. But he said, politely if absently, “Think nothing of it, madam.”
She seemed, for the first time, to take notice of Strange himself, and seemed to equal his surprise. But even so, she said, “I pray you, sir, if you will do one more favor for a lady you know not, tell none you’ve seen me, most especially for the next quarter hour. Mark – you saw me not.”
He smiled a bit, despite himself. The young lady certainly had spirit. “I assure you, young lady, I will be silent as the grave.”
“The very picture of a gentleman.” She smiled, and he saw that he was wrong; she was not pretty, but beautiful. “When next I see you, I will do you any good I may, for this aid to my dearest happiness.” She curtsied (in those shoes! It was a marvel.) and slipped away, back into the night.
Strange watched her go and was inexplicably sad, for just a moment. But, as he was never one to linger on such feelings, he shrugged to himself and wandered away to find another mirror.
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Date: 2008-01-29 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-30 02:14 am (UTC)