Fic: Ev'ry Son of Liberty (Mag7 AU)
Jan. 2nd, 2011 04:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
graculusFor ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
au_bingo - more first scenes...
Title: Ev'ry Son of Liberty
Fandom: Magnificent Seven (tv series)
Prompt: Historical: World War II
Words: 660
Warnings: None
Summary: Over there, over there, send the word, send the word, over there,
That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming...
The first time they met was in a place a thousand miles from anywhere either of them might call 'home'. Nathan was in the middle of a story about his childhood for Mrs Dawson's grandson, explaining just what a possum was to a child who'd grown up with the creatures of the English countryside, when the door to the village shop opened.
He didn't turn round, not thinking there was any reason to, and so he heard the voice of one of the newcomers before he saw either of them. Even now, years and miles away from his childhood, that drawl had the power to make the short hairs on the back of Nathan's neck stand up and that was something he hadn't realised was still the case. Not many people with that kind of accent in Chicago, let alone the part of Chicago the Jackson family now called 'home'.
Still talking, Nathan turned slightly, waiting for the moment when the two men who'd come into the shop would be visible from behind the shelves that divided its length. As he'd suspected, both were white, both officers from their uniforms - the one with the accent was the senior of the two, a compactly built man with reddish hair, still talking even as they approached the counter.
Nathan turned, saluted, poised for flight as soon as it would be acceptable to do so - he'd grown up with Jim Crow, that segregation not his experience since he'd been this side of the Atlantic, but the officers Uncle Sam had put in charge of black regiments seemed intent on keeping the colour bar alive and well.
"At ease, corporal," the Southerner said. The other man didn't speak, hovering by the captain's elbow as if somehow attached to his side, his expression telling Nathan everything his silence didn't. "I find myself in need of some string, Mrs Dawson," he continued. "If you don't mind missing the end of the corporal's story."
Mrs Dawson didn't respond, turning for the row of drawers that covered the back wall of the shop and rummaging in one of them till she found a ball of string.
"Here you are, Captain Standish," she said, placing the string on the counter. "And Corporal Jackson is more than welcome here, any time."
She tilted her chin up as she spoke, drawing herself up straighter, as if she expected some kind of rebuff from Standish. It wasn't unlikely, Nathan knew that, although he hoped that the officer would have more sense than to upset the woman who ran the only store within 5 miles. If not, all of them would be having a more difficult time getting hold of some of the basics that the US Army seemed to believe were luxuries rather than necessities.
"As he should be," Standish replied, with a smile.
It was gone in a blink, barely there long enough to register, but Nathan was sure the captain had a gold tooth. It didn't sit with the uniform, his previous experience of those put in command of black regiments, giving Standish a rakish air that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Standish," his colleague began, clearly the beginning of a protest just from the sour expression on his face, but was silenced effectively by a glare from the captain, whose smile didn't waver in the slightest.
Then the two of them were gone, Standish ushering his fellow officer out as effectively as one of the sheepdogs Nathan had watched with amazement, driving recalcitrant sheep where they didn't want to go with an ease and economy of motion.
"And then what happened?" Jack Dawson urged, turning Nathan's attention back to the story he'd been telling and away from the unexpected behaviour of an officer who had no reason to be civil, let alone tolerant. "Nathan!"
au_bingo - more first scenes...Title: Ev'ry Son of Liberty
Fandom: Magnificent Seven (tv series)
Prompt: Historical: World War II
Words: 660
Warnings: None
Summary: Over there, over there, send the word, send the word, over there,
That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming...
The first time they met was in a place a thousand miles from anywhere either of them might call 'home'. Nathan was in the middle of a story about his childhood for Mrs Dawson's grandson, explaining just what a possum was to a child who'd grown up with the creatures of the English countryside, when the door to the village shop opened.
He didn't turn round, not thinking there was any reason to, and so he heard the voice of one of the newcomers before he saw either of them. Even now, years and miles away from his childhood, that drawl had the power to make the short hairs on the back of Nathan's neck stand up and that was something he hadn't realised was still the case. Not many people with that kind of accent in Chicago, let alone the part of Chicago the Jackson family now called 'home'.
Still talking, Nathan turned slightly, waiting for the moment when the two men who'd come into the shop would be visible from behind the shelves that divided its length. As he'd suspected, both were white, both officers from their uniforms - the one with the accent was the senior of the two, a compactly built man with reddish hair, still talking even as they approached the counter.
Nathan turned, saluted, poised for flight as soon as it would be acceptable to do so - he'd grown up with Jim Crow, that segregation not his experience since he'd been this side of the Atlantic, but the officers Uncle Sam had put in charge of black regiments seemed intent on keeping the colour bar alive and well.
"At ease, corporal," the Southerner said. The other man didn't speak, hovering by the captain's elbow as if somehow attached to his side, his expression telling Nathan everything his silence didn't. "I find myself in need of some string, Mrs Dawson," he continued. "If you don't mind missing the end of the corporal's story."
Mrs Dawson didn't respond, turning for the row of drawers that covered the back wall of the shop and rummaging in one of them till she found a ball of string.
"Here you are, Captain Standish," she said, placing the string on the counter. "And Corporal Jackson is more than welcome here, any time."
She tilted her chin up as she spoke, drawing herself up straighter, as if she expected some kind of rebuff from Standish. It wasn't unlikely, Nathan knew that, although he hoped that the officer would have more sense than to upset the woman who ran the only store within 5 miles. If not, all of them would be having a more difficult time getting hold of some of the basics that the US Army seemed to believe were luxuries rather than necessities.
"As he should be," Standish replied, with a smile.
It was gone in a blink, barely there long enough to register, but Nathan was sure the captain had a gold tooth. It didn't sit with the uniform, his previous experience of those put in command of black regiments, giving Standish a rakish air that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Standish," his colleague began, clearly the beginning of a protest just from the sour expression on his face, but was silenced effectively by a glare from the captain, whose smile didn't waver in the slightest.
Then the two of them were gone, Standish ushering his fellow officer out as effectively as one of the sheepdogs Nathan had watched with amazement, driving recalcitrant sheep where they didn't want to go with an ease and economy of motion.
"And then what happened?" Jack Dawson urged, turning Nathan's attention back to the story he'd been telling and away from the unexpected behaviour of an officer who had no reason to be civil, let alone tolerant. "Nathan!"
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 05:45 am (UTC)