gallowseyes (
gallowseyes) wrote in
thecityneversleeps2025-08-23 01:33 pm
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George can't honestly remember a time when he'd been this happy. Maybe he'd come close, some days, in France -- once he'd really understood what he was there to do, and given himself over to it? Or there had been days at court when it had been less of a struggle to stay in James' light, and he'd been able to relax, and enjoy the life that he'd bought for himself. In Darrow, though, things are simpler -- he works, sometimes, playing cello or the viola de gamba that he'd found in a dusty corner of a music shop and scrimped coins to buy, and he rides, and he has friends, and someone who shares his bed, and...
Some days it feels like a perfect kind of life.
A few days after his second birthday celebrated in Darrow, he finds himself in a bookstore, browsing the shelves. He finds himself drawn to the history section, idly scanning the spines for titles that suggest events that he might be familiar with. He's just put back a volume about the wives of Henry VIII when he sees them, two books, side by side: The Scapegoat: The Brilliant, Brief Life of the Duke of Buckingham and, next to it, The King's Assassin.
He takes the former, leafing through it. It's a lot of information to take in. Duke, not Earl, beloved of Charlies as well as James, married (with children) to Katie Manners, of all people. He remmebers her from childhood, and always thought that she was dull, and weird. Children. Whispers that, along with his mother, through malice or misadventure, that he'd had a hand in the death of the King, of James in 1625, which was only eleven years after he'd left Perth, and found himself in Darrow.
And then he sees it, in black and white: Minutes later, he was dead.
Shit. Shit. He flips back a few pages, increasingly agitated, and finds the date. 23rd August, 1628. He'd been thirty five years old. Less than ten years older than he finds himself, standing there in a different world entirely.
So why does it feel like the world is suddenly caving in? The book still in his hands, he sits down, heavily, on the floor in front of the shelf. It feels like his bones no longer wish to do him service. The world spins and, suddenly, he can't do anything but put his head between his knees.
ooc: George has just found out that a) historians believe that, wittingly or un, he had a part in the death of his lover, James I and b) that he was assasinated, aged 35. He's not taking it well. Witness his breakdown or find him on the street afterwards. If your pup has knowledge of English history OR has read The Three Musketeers, they'll almost certainly have heard of The Duke of Buckingham.
Some days it feels like a perfect kind of life.
A few days after his second birthday celebrated in Darrow, he finds himself in a bookstore, browsing the shelves. He finds himself drawn to the history section, idly scanning the spines for titles that suggest events that he might be familiar with. He's just put back a volume about the wives of Henry VIII when he sees them, two books, side by side: The Scapegoat: The Brilliant, Brief Life of the Duke of Buckingham and, next to it, The King's Assassin.
He takes the former, leafing through it. It's a lot of information to take in. Duke, not Earl, beloved of Charlies as well as James, married (with children) to Katie Manners, of all people. He remmebers her from childhood, and always thought that she was dull, and weird. Children. Whispers that, along with his mother, through malice or misadventure, that he'd had a hand in the death of the King, of James in 1625, which was only eleven years after he'd left Perth, and found himself in Darrow.
And then he sees it, in black and white: Minutes later, he was dead.
Shit. Shit. He flips back a few pages, increasingly agitated, and finds the date. 23rd August, 1628. He'd been thirty five years old. Less than ten years older than he finds himself, standing there in a different world entirely.
So why does it feel like the world is suddenly caving in? The book still in his hands, he sits down, heavily, on the floor in front of the shelf. It feels like his bones no longer wish to do him service. The world spins and, suddenly, he can't do anything but put his head between his knees.
ooc: George has just found out that a) historians believe that, wittingly or un, he had a part in the death of his lover, James I and b) that he was assasinated, aged 35. He's not taking it well. Witness his breakdown or find him on the street afterwards. If your pup has knowledge of English history OR has read The Three Musketeers, they'll almost certainly have heard of The Duke of Buckingham.