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crack_van2008-07-05 10:14 am
rabidsamfan.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2008-07-05 10:14 am
Entry tags:
Memory in the Skin by nlr alicia (R)
Fandom: SHERLOCK HOLMES
Pairing: Holmes/male(s) referred to or implied
Length: 7400
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nlr_alicia
Author Website: a small patch of mist
Why this must be read:
If a Watson fan like me keeps reading a story in which he is barely alluded to, there must be some good reasons, and this haunting, perfect story has plenty. An original character as narrator who establishes himself as a real within a few paragraphs, evidences of a past which is all the more disturbing for the scant description we are given, and a glimmer of hope near the end, that makes the trip through the night well worth the journey. The author has recently indicated that this story is going to be the prequel to a longer work, but you can read it on its own.
This young man, Will Prescott he called himself at the time, was one. If my old girl, rest her soul, could’ve seen him laying there bare-arsed on my work table I know she’d have been inclined to throw a blanket over him and give him a hot cup of something.
I’d bucked my rules about late night custom to see him. In the usual run of things when a lad shows up at old Jolly Rodger Hodgson’s place after seven bells looking to get his new sweetheart’s name put on his arm, to seal the deal you might say, or to get a permanent souvenir of London Town inked on his chest before shipping out next morning, I show him around the corner to Jim Traft. Jim stays open to all hours and doesn’t much care as long as the lad’s got the cost, though he’s most of the time as lit up as his customers.
But I didn’t shut the door on Will and it was hard to say exactly why. Might be it was the way he held himself kind of stiff, like a boy waiting to see the headmaster and expecting to get six of the best and him with no more meat on him than a Spring colt. Or it could’ve been my Lucy reaching down to lay her hand on my shoulder.
Then, too, something in his light colored eyes put me in mind of a boy I knew on a clipper off Mandalay. That one came on board with the look of a yearling not yet broke to the saddle who gauges you kind of wary like he’s not sure he ought to run or hope for an apple from your pocket. Before we got within sight of shore again he’d lost that look and a sight more besides. I wondered if his sweetheart would recognize him for the boy she’d sent off to sea with a kiss for luck. With Will I remember thinking after it was a marvel he’d kept that look because it wasn’t many who would have.
Memory in the Skin
Pairing: Holmes/male(s) referred to or implied
Length: 7400
Author on LJ:
nlr_aliciaAuthor Website: a small patch of mist
Why this must be read:
If a Watson fan like me keeps reading a story in which he is barely alluded to, there must be some good reasons, and this haunting, perfect story has plenty. An original character as narrator who establishes himself as a real within a few paragraphs, evidences of a past which is all the more disturbing for the scant description we are given, and a glimmer of hope near the end, that makes the trip through the night well worth the journey. The author has recently indicated that this story is going to be the prequel to a longer work, but you can read it on its own.
This young man, Will Prescott he called himself at the time, was one. If my old girl, rest her soul, could’ve seen him laying there bare-arsed on my work table I know she’d have been inclined to throw a blanket over him and give him a hot cup of something.
I’d bucked my rules about late night custom to see him. In the usual run of things when a lad shows up at old Jolly Rodger Hodgson’s place after seven bells looking to get his new sweetheart’s name put on his arm, to seal the deal you might say, or to get a permanent souvenir of London Town inked on his chest before shipping out next morning, I show him around the corner to Jim Traft. Jim stays open to all hours and doesn’t much care as long as the lad’s got the cost, though he’s most of the time as lit up as his customers.
But I didn’t shut the door on Will and it was hard to say exactly why. Might be it was the way he held himself kind of stiff, like a boy waiting to see the headmaster and expecting to get six of the best and him with no more meat on him than a Spring colt. Or it could’ve been my Lucy reaching down to lay her hand on my shoulder.
Then, too, something in his light colored eyes put me in mind of a boy I knew on a clipper off Mandalay. That one came on board with the look of a yearling not yet broke to the saddle who gauges you kind of wary like he’s not sure he ought to run or hope for an apple from your pocket. Before we got within sight of shore again he’d lost that look and a sight more besides. I wondered if his sweetheart would recognize him for the boy she’d sent off to sea with a kiss for luck. With Will I remember thinking after it was a marvel he’d kept that look because it wasn’t many who would have.
Memory in the Skin
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If it weren't for the prohibition on recommending WIPs I could probably have filled the entire monthly requirement with no less remarkable alicia's stories -- she's THAT good -- and like you, I'm quite looking forward to more!