SEND ME A SHIP INVOLVING MY MUSE AND I’LL TELL YOU;
Who would be the big spoon?: Fillan
Who would wake up first?: Annie
Do they have nicknames for each other?: Fillan, to annoy her
What happened when they met each other’s parents?: Fillan gets send to the gallows.
How do they apologise after an argument?: Gifts probably
What would they be like as parents?: Fillan would be the always absent father, Annie I guess a loving mother?
Who is the better cook?: Annie
Who is more romantic?; Annie
What sort of gifts do they get for each other?: Fillan gifts her stolen jewelry and flowers
Who gets jealous easiest?: Annie
Who gets more excited for events e.g.. Birthdays, Christmas?: Fillan
Who is the most adventurous?: Fillan
Who is the most protective?: Fillan
What would they have been like as childhood sweethearts?: Fillan would bother her until she slaps him in his little toddler face ovo
*BONUS: Song to sum them up?*: rich girls - the virgins
Do I ship it?
NOTP / Crack only / AU only / Not really / Maybe a little / Well now I do/ Yes/ Of course! / OTP || Fillan had more a crush on her than on would really go well with her I guess..? :”/
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John lingered in the street, his wide rough-cloth pants tucked into high boots, a wool sash and shirt and vest setting his clearly out from the genial folks of the city. Their covered wagons, built only recently on this side of the ocean, sat behind them, and he laughed to watch a friend juggle fire. John himself stood against a wall and bit deeply into a ripe apple he'd thumbed from the seller, raising an eyebrow and a smirking mouth to a gaggle of girls who were ushered away from the group as quickly as possible. Wide whiskey eyes cruised over the crowd while he shifted his mouth and trailed a tongue over the side of his hand to lap at the sweet juice of the apple, chewing quickly.
Visiting travellers were never kindly looked upon here, but they needed to trade, to gain coin to purchase for the winter. John hadn't been to this city since his far childhood, when he'd been orphaned and stumbled upon the troupe and made them his home, found the nomadic life one he enjoyed greatly. Though there was much to appreciate in the city....
Like wide, swinging skirts in the colours of candy and smiling beestung lips. He nudged a boy to his side and whispered in Irish to him, before they both burst into lascivious laughter.
6. My muse goes down on yours under a desk, during a meeting
[[HAHAHAHA]]
It was not intended to be like this. It was intended that she would be at his desk in the corner of their living room, and he was under it, kissing over her thighs with a sigh, It was intended only to give her a taste of what she had done to him. It was not intended that a private from the regiment would come by to deliver a message, find his wife, and linger and make conversation. Smile turned sharp, and John leaned forward to pleasure his wife with his mouth, wondering how she would react.
John arrived and was greeted with some of the men he easily called friends, young bachelors like him, men from his club and work, friends-of-friends-of friends he'd become acquainted with over time and these events. Grinning, laughing, clapping them on the shoulders with greetings, John quickly surveyed easily over the heads of some of the others, looking over the crows. The usual suspects. Governor Smith's sons looking predatory in the corner. Doctor Williams' daughters giggling insipidly. He casually ignored the fact that Elizabeth gave him a close inspection, and whispered to her sister.
He'd talked to her once, found her entirely agreeable and thoroughly informed of the weather, and of course, horrifically boring. The same could be said of Rose and Daisy, the daughters of the well-to-do Greens, and even of Eva, the godchild of the russian diplomat come to visit town. The worst was Genevieve de la Mai, but that might be because they neither of them spoke the same language and were forced into introduction because of his boss at the bank. Humming, John sighed, and smiled as he turned his head to catch the end of a joke about his perpetual singledom.
"A night at the Rose, John?"
"Ah, No, James, I think not." He laughed.
"Look at him, blushing like a maid!" "Pure as the driven snow, our John!" "What a darling!" John laughed again, good-naturedly, slapping away their hands as they reached to pink his blushing, freckled cheek,s, pushing off. Andrew stopped to cross to Maisie Lynn, all dolled up in ringlets and with hopeful eyes and a sweet look on her face for him. John hoped Andrew would gather the courage to pursue her, the girl was lost already.
"Ah, leave me alone, you dogs." he returned to his friends, who laughed in response. "You go find those pockmarked "Ladies" of the Rose, and I'll stay with the very blossoms of Europe here!"
"Alright but only because we know they are entirely safe at your hands!" they teased, waving genially as they headed off to other rooms, for smoking or gambling, but John went to look for his other, adult associates, men escorting their wives and daughters, eyes scanning for familiar faces.
And froze, blinking, tilting his head to look over her. Someone he'd never met. Blonde, hair curled and tied up out of her face. A face carved by angels, for certain. Sharp green eyes and a displeased look about her mouth. A heavy red dress. John paused longer, taking her in. Humming, he moved to go to her, smiling genially.
'Excuse me miss." She looked at him and frowned, rolling her eyes.
"No."
"No?"
"No I won't excuse you." She stated and stared at him as John's face split into a grin.
"You're a firey one!"
"....Apologies." She stated, looking taken aback. Ah, no, not yet. John's smile faltered, tilting a glance at her. "My father always says I'm too sharp." she sniffed, frowning and glancing away.
"Ah, mine says I'm too soft, so for all we know, I could balance you out. Miss...?"
"Pitcairn."
"Pitcairn." and he went cold, straightening. She caught it with another sharp glance, finally smirking.
"You've heard of him."
"Hasn't everyone in Boston?" he asked, sizing her up. "And is he here today?" She shook her head easily, and he relaxed a bit, smiling at her after a moment. "....I'm John. Hickey." Her turn for a surprised look, and he blushed and cursed. Of course she would know his father, he was an idiot. They paused together, waiting the other out as they sized each other up. John blushed slightly, and sighed, offering his arm. "What say we get a drink? It would be my honour to escort you to the punch table, Miss Pitcairn." She waited a moment, considering as she narrowed her eyes and frowned, making him grin all the more. But then she nodded, putting a hand lightly in his elbow and walking slowly with him through the rooms. John was entranced, amused, finally in a relief to find a woman who didn't just giggle and ask what he thought of the King, the weather, dear god anything but what he thought of the French! But then, he was at a lost of what to say to her, and she was not volunteering anything. "Miss Pitcairn, have you..."
"I swear to God, if you say one word about the heat, I'll hand you off to Lily Robinson." John laughed aloud, ahghast.
"Dear me! Anything but that-- you wouldn't really be so cruel?"
"I would!" she declared, tossing her head.
"You would? You would condemn me to an evening of talk of her grandmother's cats?"
"I'd get her started on her bunions!" John gasped in that reply, mocking being hurt, and she giggled, and John could feel his heart rush, risking a pat of her hand.
"You're a cruel woman, miss Pitcairn."
"...Annie." He glanced at her, and grinned, reaching the punch line.
"You're a cruel woman, Annie." She laughed, and blushed slightly, and John couldn't stop looking at her, only glancing away to collect their cups of punch and hand her one, smiling gently as they clinked glasses to their healths.
"You're a brave man, Mr. Hick.... John." she tilted her head. "Usually men have gone off to Susie Fuller by now." she stated, and sipped deeply from her cup. John scrunched his nose glancing to the redhead in question, her low-cut dress and the small club of young men around her.
"Ah, Fully isn't .... my type." he stated, shaking his head.
"And who is your type?"
"A girl who can speak authoritatively on interesting subjects and not just giggle for hours."
'She's a friend of mine."
"Ah.... Apologies." he stated, blushing furiously.
"She's a sweet girl."
"I...Ah, I... sh-- I'm sure she is."
"She might not be the brightest, but she is very kind!"
"I have heard, she is exceedingly kind to everyone!" Her eyes flashed at that response of his, and he laughed nervously. There was a tense moment before her face broke, and she laughed too. Soon, they were both bent, in stitches, the society matrons looking disapprovingly at them. John straightened slowly, skimming an admiring glance over her as he took her cup and putting them both on the table.
"Dance with me?"
"So forward, John." she teased, raising an eyebrow.
"Dance with me."
"Can you even?"
"I know a few steps."
"A few steps." He grinned, and nodded, and held out his hand to her patiently as she turned it over in her mind. "....Fine." John could have cheered, grasping her hand and swinging her onto the floor for a jig, something almost like the irish reels they played in the pubs near his childhood home, scooting the older couples from the floors. Forward, she had called him, and so he thought it alright to pull her into a scandalous waltzing posture, and stepping quickly into the spinning step of the song. It took her a second or two to catch on, to step just as confidentally as him, and he surrendered the lead to her, hand at her hip. Annie Pitcairn tossed her head and laughed, and John grinned too, flushing as his breath caught in his chest and his stomach knotted up to see her move freely, adding her own steps and sways to it, following her easily as they spun around the dancefloor until he felt dizzy and she was panting in the exertion. Step, spin, heel, toe, lift, spin, spin, step step step... The song spun out, the other young couples laughing wildly as they went like tops, Uncoupled young people clapping and whooping while their parents went on, most scowling but some laughing nostalgically. Suddenly the song wound down and John slowed, holding Annie at the waist, both of them panting and flushed with excitement. Easily, forgetting himself, he tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear, it having fallen out of the complicated hairstyle she wore.
And when she smiled, batted his hand away and turned to look coyly over her shoulder, he knew he was lost.
She was quickly enveloped by the crowd of giggling girls, he by the boys he knew so well, clapping him on the shoulder, and it took ages until their eyes broke contact, and he didn't even know what he said to anyone for hours, his head so full of her, before he asked around.
"Annie Pitcairn? Oh, she's leaving--" John paled and dodged through the house to the outside where he saw her loading up in a carriage. Jogging, he moved to the window, and smiled goofily, waving a hand. She let down the glass, and leaned out, and he swallowed thickly, staring up at her.
"....Yes?" she asked, sleepy-eyed.
"When can I see you again?" he asked, and she frowned, then grinned.
"Whenever you can find me again." she teased, looking at him. After a moment, seized by a thought of what his father would do, he leaned up onto the balls of his feet and caught the back of her head, kissing her briefly before stepping backwards, looking at the shock on her face.
"....Then I'll be looking for you, Miss Pitcairn."
"Good evening, Mister Hickey." she sniffed, flushing as she sat down again, the driver taking that as a signal to take off as a good clip. And John watched until they turned a sharp corner, breathing deeply.
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Annie snuggled close to her fiance, bringing the covers up to shield her eyes from the light and to protect herself from the cold air of the room.
John huffed a long breath, and smiled in his half-awake state, drawing his arms around her to hold Annie close. Though it wasn't at all safe to leave a fire on all night while they slept, he thought this the best reason of all to let the chill come in. A hand strayed to her belly, another pleased sound coming from him. "....morning, darling." he whispered, cracking a whiskey eye to her and moving to kiss her forehead. ".... you are doing better this day! perhaps it has passed..."
When he does come up to the Garnier to pass through the rooms and examine the work being done onstage, he certainly has no desire to be disturbed. If you do catch the end of the Opera Ghost's cape disappearing 'round a corner, you'd best let it alone, and not go chasing after him, for you never know what mood you might catch him in, and you may just find yourself wishing that you had stuck to the well-lit halls of the Palais.
