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bakerstreet2023-08-11 06:49 pm
jormandugr) wrote in bakerstreet2023-08-11 06:49 pm
it is a truth universally acknowledged...
| ⸻ ꧁ Regency AU ꧂ 𖥸 |
 |
Because who doesn't love a little Austen, Shelley, or Scott? This is the meme for all your Regency AUs, whether you're a dazzling socialite, a dashing sergeant, or a terrible rake - or just the person serving the drinks. Comment with an idea of your character's position in society and any ideas you have, as well as the usual info - character, canon, whether you're interested in shipping/gen/etc, any prompts you aren't interested in, etc. Tag around, and let's spread a little scandal! |
⸻ ꧁ The Prompts ꧂ 𖥸 Who are you? (Some AU ideas)❧ The Socialite: Your family is wealthy, well-heeled, and generally known in high society. Your life is a constant stream of eligible bachelor(ette)s, glamorous balls, holidays in the fashionable cities of Brighton and Bath, and social occasions with the elite. But, with all the eyes of the world on you... are you truly happy? ❧The Social Climber: You might be from the lower nobility, from a disgraced family, or, worst of all... *whispers* from trade. With hard work and a little ruthlessness, perhaps you can make a good match and connect with the right people to climb up through the ranks - or maybe you could just pull them down with you. ❧The Walking Scandal: A rake who sleeps with well-to-do ladies, ruining their virtue. A young lady who's no better than she should be, and may even be seen unchaperoned with a gentleman not of her acquaintance. Maybe it's nothing so dire - maybe you just like to spend time with the lower classes, or are a little too educated for a nice young lady. The social mores of the time are strict and unyielding, and stepping too far out of line can ruin not only your own life, but your whole family along with you. ❧The Dashing White Sergeant: ❧ The Chaperone: Mothers, fathers, widowers and maiden aunts. Your own days of full dance cards and courting are long past, and now it's time for you to look out for the younger generation, making sure that they don't get into too much trouble. But, of course, just because you've aged out of the more glamourous parts of society doesn't mean that nothing ever happens to you. Who knows what scandals might wait around the corner? ❧ The Staff: Every household has them: the silent masses who wait at table, keep the stables and garden neat, dress the ladies and bring the gentlemen their morning paper. They are often invisible to the upper class, but who knows more than the butler or the maid? And the politics of the kitchen and the scullery are often far more intricate and delicate than even the highest society balls. ❧ Someone else. These are all just intended as ideas and starting points. Maybe your character doesn't fit into any of these categories at all! What's going on?1) I See Netherfield Is Let Again: You have new neighbours! Naturally, the gossip is already swirling: who are they? Where are they from? Most importantly, is there an eligible bachelor who has two hundred a year? It would only be polite to drop by and say hello... 2) The Season Begins: The most important networking occasion of all: a society ball! A young lady's "coming-out" - her first ball and presentation to society - is of course the most important time of her life, but those who aren't so fresh to the scene can have an exciting time, too. Dance, talk, have a glass of wine and a canapé or two. Who knows - you just might meet the next most important person in your life. 3) A Proper Courtship: Courtship in Regency society is not at all a whirlwind affair. Marriage is a business arrangement, and has to be entered into carefully. Chaperoned dates, talks among the family, and perhaps a few stolen moments in the gardens, if you're lucky. Do you even like one another? 4) An Improper Courtship: For whatever reason, you - or someone else in your life - has fallen for someone entirely inappropriate. Perhaps the problem is their behaviour, the scandals that attend them, or the sort of company they keep. Perhaps they just aren't of the right social class - or, for that matter, of the right sex. Whatever the case, you had better be careful, because if this comes to light, the whole house of cards could come crashing down. 5) Scandal and Calumny: Oh, no. What have you done? You've broken one of the many, many, many rules of society, and now you're ruined! Perhaps the other person is your partner in this scandal, or someone trying to help you through it. Perhaps they're just here to laugh at your fall from grace - or profit from it. Blackmail is, after all, a very lucrative occupation. 6) Homecoming: Whether you have been away at war, at school, or in your new husband's home, it's time to come back and see your old friends and family. But how have you changed, in the time you've been away - and is home still the way that you left it? 7) Taking The Air: This is the era of the holiday. Perhaps you are going to the fashionable city spots - London, Bath, Brighton - to visit the high-class shops, take tea with people you may not see often, bathe in the local spas, and attend the theatre. Perhaps it's a visit to someone's country home, a hunting trip to the Highlands, or a seaside excursion to enjoy the new pavilions and pleasure beaches. So much to do, so much to see - and so many people to run into. 8) An Illicit Meeting: Whether for the purposes of crime, spycraft, or just because it's socially inappropriate to be seen together, you two have arranged to meet in some secret spot, in disguise and hopefully unseen. There are all kinds of dark corners of Regency Britain where you can sneak away to - just don't get caught! 9) The Obligatory Marriage: 'Nuff said. It wouldn't be a Regency meme without the arranged marriage option, would it? 10) Wildcard: They had to make their own prompts, in those days. |
Inezia Harvadasher-Fletcher | Pathfinder OC | OTA
General History and information
AU ideas: * A recent widow who just finished her period of mourning and is now back "on the market"
* Acting as a chaperone to an unmarried young lady and offering advice on how to conduct ones self
* Seeking a careful under the radar relationship due to a lack of desire to remarry
Come plot with me! I'll happily toss something up afterwards.
I'm happy to play with any of the prompts.))
Éowyn | Lord of the Rings | OTA
[[Either way, she's the niece of a rural lord, quite old to be unmarried (she's in her 20s) but it's explained by her devotion to nursing her sick uncle, and she's probably fairly new to city society as she's been largely tucked away in a country estate trying to hold everything together.]]
[[If we go with the war story, she's permanently disabled by it and is likely to be considered unmarriageable as a result, despite her good name and money.]]
[[Interested in either shipping or gen, and any of the prompts. Some additional ideas:
- Someone who went to school with her/knew her in the past spotting her in the street and wondering where the hell she's been.
- Unexpectedly coming across her in the countryside while she's horse-riding (cross-saddle, gasp!)
- If we go with the soldier thing: her real gender being discovered, or perhaps her post-war (when she's back to being a lady) stumbling across someone who only knew her as a man.]]
[[Happy to write a starter, will match format!]]
Sam Vimes | Discworld | OTA
[[He's what you might call a social climber, but very unwillingly. Just as in canon, his sympathies are always going to be with the common-as-muck working class, and despite being a Duke, he's keen to underline that fact.]]
[[Open to prompts 1, 2, 5, 8, or a wildcard if you've got ideas! Not looking for shipping (unless by some miracle you're playing Sybil), as Sam here is Extremely Married.]]
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obviously, lmk if you want anything changed!
[Frankly, this is much more comfortable than trying to make small talk with Sybil's cousin's niece's brother-in-law, or whoever it was he was in the parlour with earlier.]
[His Grace Sir Samuel Vimes, currently one of the richest and most influential men in London despite his best efforts, takes the opportunity to shuck off his jacket and hat, roll up his shirt-sleeves, and generally revert to the Sam Vimes who's been walking the same Cheapside beat since the end of the last century. Bloody hell, it's a relief to pull off the cravat.]
All right, all right, let me through. And if I see any of you buggers trying to sneak out the back door while my back's turned, you're going to end up with a Bow Street cudgel somewhere the sun does not shine. Got it?
[...Sybil is going to give him such an ear-bashing when this is over. But he can't resist a little bit of nastiness, in the kind of company noted for having more money than chin.]
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We will send for something to be served there while we wait patiently. We are civilized people caught up by a... Uncivilized matter.
[ The woman who spoke up is a known friend of the mistress of the house. She's also somewhat known by at least some of the guests but largely because of who her husband had been. Her husband had been a well-liked gentleman when he was alive. Scholar, former soldier, and the sort of man who always tried to do better for others. People liked him.
His wife is much the same and had taken young Lady Mary under her wing a few years ago. The lady of the house is very sweet but doesn't speak up for herself very well. Inezia doesn't mind stepping in to help. She reguarded Lady Mary as something of a younger sister.
Inezia glances towards the wash room and just goes a little wide-eyed for a moment. She knows the young man laying there. This is going to cause quite the stir if too many people hear that he was here.
She had best at least warn His Grace about the details she's aware of. The good thing about being a widow is that too many people seem to forget that she's got two good ears and a set of eyes.
Besides that. This could hurt Lady Mary and Inezia can't let that happen if she can help it. The only way she can see that happening is if the truth comes out.
So with that said Inezia waits for the people to scatter a bit before she slips up a little closer. ]
Your Grace. There's an important fact about this... Victim you may need to be aware of. Well. A few, if you don't mind my interjection.
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[At her comment, he grunts acknowledgement.]
I'd mind it less if you didn't call me that.
[Your Grace, even after all this time... it's useful, sometimes, but it rubs like wet oakum on Vimes' sensibilities. He squats down and pokes desultorily at the blood, rubbing his fingers together thoughtfully. Goddammit. This is going to be a whole thing, isn't it?]
You know the poor bastard, then?
Knew.
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[ She's too practical to argue with a Duke. Rank allows him to be a little different. She taps her thumb thoughtfully against the ring she still wears. Putting it aside still doesn't feel right yet.
Besides the weight is comforting when she's trying to keep her mind calm. Focus on the important things. ]
Yes, unfortunately.
Charles Cumberland. He used to be friend's with Lady Mary but there was a nasty falling out. She never would have let him stay. Her husband.... is not the kind of man to upset his wife by inviting Cumberland either.
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[He sits back on his heels, wiping the blood off his hand onto his trouser leg, and looks up at her. He isn't a particularly remarkable-looking man, and, right now, the most striking thing about his face is the sourness of its expression.]
Bugger.
So he wasn't invited. You know what that means, don't you?
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[ She frowns sharply as she mentally chews on that thought. ]
He would have had to have sweet talked to one of the people working here. He could be charming when he wanted.
[ She's not bothered by this. It is just a fact she had noticed about the victim. ]
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[He grunts again - not at her, this time, just at the world in general - and pushes himself to his feet. His tailored breeches creak a little in protest. Bloody stupid things. How's anyone meant to get anything done in this monkey suit?]
So Charlie here trespassed his way in, decided to stop for a quick piss, and got a hatpin in the jugular. Only I'm pretty bloody sure it wasn't Lady Mary, 'cause she was complaining about my cigars half an hour ago, and this blood's fresh.
Right. [He points at Lady Inezia with the first two fingers of a very calloused and nicotine-stained hand.] You jumped up to weigh in pretty damn quick. What's the story?
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[ It's a little more than friendship. Inezia feels responsible for Mary. ]
I understood what she was going through. It's terribly isolating to be entering society without someone you can trust to help make it easier.
[ She glances down at Charles then back up at Vimes. ]
He wasn't here to empty his bladder. The buttons on his trousers are in place..... but he did come here first. His shoes are still damp looking.
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[Well, they're either going to be a real pain in the fundament, or they're covering for something.]
Know a lot about crime scenes, do you?
[It manages to be snide, accusing, and sarcastic all at the same time. This is where he'd throw in a And where were you on the evening in question, except that's going to be pretty embarrassing if she was in the same room as him.]
[Note to self: pay more attention at tea parties.]
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She did not do this but it really doesn't look good if she's being reasonable. ]
Only a little. There are times when knowing what someone might be up to is.... useful. I had troubles during my husband's illness. A few dishonest characters tried taking advantage.
[ It was handled. She doesn't think on it much now. ]
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[He's going to have to ask Sybil a lot of things, he realises. Including just who the hell he's talking to right now.]
Oh, yeah? And where are they now?
[The nastiness in his tone hasn't gone anywhere.]
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One of them works for the museum. Everyone acts as if he's such a sweet honest fellow. If you'll excuse my bluntness? He's a shit. Tried taking books from my husband's collection without asking.
The other fellow tried to claim my husband was paying off someone's debt. Didn't provide proof when asked so I tossed him out on his ear. I honestly haven't had too much trouble with others. Just the occasional idiot.
[ Right, manners have gone away just a bit. Honesty however is probably more appreciated at this moment.
Sybil probably knows all of the details of the headaches Inezia went through. There had been plenty of good gossip about her raging at the person trying to take books. She likes books more than people and those were also her darling husband's books. How dare anyone try taking them without permission. ]
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[But he can check all that out later. He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking back over at the deceased Mr Cumberland.]
And this Charles fella. Another occasional idiot?
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No. In truth? We rarely interacted. I only knew him because of his friendship with Mary.
[ She thinks about the falling out and sighs again. ]
I felt sorry for him. The falling out was because he was.... a little bit in love with Mary and couldn't stand her getting married.... he really didn't like Duncan.
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Dunno why you'd feel sorry for him. Sounds like he should have got over himself.
[He looks back over at the pool of blood.]
...I mean, I guess he's all over himself, now.
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Should. Not. Laugh.
But the stress of trying to be good and there being an actual dead body has gotten to her. She snorts out a laugh. ]
I may think he should have just.... Moved on? But moving on from this mortal coil is a bit much.
Still. Duncan knew of the situation between Mary and Charles. I know not how he felt about beyond reasonably not wanting Charles here. Duncan.... Does not like to be embarrassed.
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[He sticks his hands in his pockets, wrinkling his nose, and looks back towards the parlour.]
Seems to me like rich bastards getting embarrassed doesn't tend to end well for the buggers who embarrass 'em.
[...Sam, you are the rich bastards.]
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So the policeman was first on the scene, and saw a chalk white redhead in a green dress looking down at the body of Lord Gravid Rust who had a dagger sticking out from just under the rib cage. And three junior lords appearing on the scene through the other door into the drawing room who saw Lydia standing over the body.
To a bad policeman it might be an open and shut case; Lydia's family weren't titled (although her father desperately wanted one) and Lord Rust would be furious and out for blood. He'd been dead just long enough to lose control of his bowels, and his jacket was soaked with blood. And it wasn't much of a secret that any woman alone in a room for a few minutes with Lord Gerald Rust either had a motive for murder or was looking to be paid off.
OOC: Not sure whether to set this in the real world or on the Discworld? Also whether a pre-canon ingenue in over her head or a post-canon 'not this shit again' Lydia?
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Just once, it would be nice to be a bad policeman. Vimes could see the future unfolding in front of him as soon as he walked through the door, and it involved a lot of shit to wade through. A lot of politics. Probably a lot of missed dinners, although given Lady Sybil's current obsession with cutting the rinds off his food, maybe eating at his desk wasn't such a bad thing.
And, right now, a lot longer at this bloody party.
Vimes, who had been looking forwards to ducking out of this company at the earliest opportunity, sighed and ground out his cigar. It could be worse. He could be in charge of the laundry around here.
"If you're going to faint," he told the screaming girl - not unkindly, despite his gravelly voice - "try to do it away from His Lordship. He looks a bit squishy."
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Lydia, still pale, took a breath. "Not my first dead body. No I'm not going to faint. And staying away from his Lordship was always part of my plan for this evening." She'd screamed a split second after she saw the body in the darkened room, having had a choice of either that and with luck being half a room away, or walking away quietly and hoping no one knew she was there at all but making herself look guilty if she hadn't raised the alarm. But she hadn't actually been into the room. The question was who the real killer was, and she wondered if it was a set-up.
Her eyes were more with her words than with her pallor; they flickered, looking in the shadows and, having checked Vimes and considered him non-hostile (at least not hostile right now) looking at the two lordlings on the far side of the room and wondering if either or both of them had set her up, or whether she was a target of opportunity. The stab had been underhanded which meant that it could have been anyone. She turned to Vimes. "I assume I'm not to leave the scene, Sir, at least until you've secured the area and spoken to me?" Having made a fast assessment of his dress she'd used the most informal standard of address she could without being considered actively rude or gauche until he told her to use a given name.
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Ironically, it makes him more convinced that there's more going on here than meets the eye. After all, if he'd just murdered someone, he probably wouldn't set the scene with his 'not an innocent' bona fides - at least, not unless he was a very specific kind of murderer, which isn't quite how she seems. It's just a gut instinct, but, despite the reaction it had to the hors d'ouevres earlier, Sam Vimes trusts his gut.
"No-one's leaving any time soon." Damn it, he was going to have to find someone trustworthy to run down to the watch-house, wasn't he? Well, there were the coachmen, at least. He knew where they'd been, and whatever other crimes they might have been committing when he wasn't looking, they hadn't been out stabbing toffs in the past hour. That gave him a bit of a starting point, at least. "That means you, lads. Don't think I don't see you backing out. You want to spend tonight in a cell, pal, you keep going right that way." Then, back to the young woman: "We're going out in the hall, and we're locking this door, and if you know what's good for you, you're staying right where I can see you. Got that?"
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And also to a memorable series of reports involving mad scientists experimenting on unwilling test subjects, where the name Lydia Martin figured as the person who'd actually killed the chief scientist. Of course the fact she was strapped to a hospital gurney while he was trying to trepan her without anaesthetic and she had stabbed him in the leg with a syringe full of air made it absolutely clear self defence. And Lydia was adept at makeup, but if he looked hard Vimes could still see the scar and the way her skin was slightly flat over the removed part of her skull. Of course if this was the same Lydia then it explained why Lydia's age never appeared in the dispatches from Sergeant Parrish.
"Yes sir." The two lordlings seemed positively deflated by Vimes bearing, especially realising who he actually was. One of them opened his mouth to say "My fat..." and got it stamped on hard by the other one with a whispered "That's Sam Vimes".
Lydia, meanwhile, was staring at a slightly garish painting. "That's a hole not black paint. Fuck!" She swallowed, turning to Vimes. "I think there's an extra way out."
Faramir | Lord of the Rings | OTA
[[Open to shipping or gen, any of the prompts.]]
[[I do also have a Boromir account and would be up for either threading with him instead, or even playing both brothers in one thread - I just didn't want to swamp the comments with Tolkien toplevels! Anyway, if you want Boromir, just ask.]]
for asorceress
[As usual, Boromir has made himself the centre of attention, effortlessly and without intent: it comes naturally to the elder Stewart brother to command the room, and Faramir - who is, in any case, less inclined to merriment - is content enough to draw back, smiling, and simply observe. Not only to observe his brother, of course, but the whole room. He is, as he has always been, a man with a keen interest in the world around him: if a ballroom is less his milieu than a quiet woodland or open river, still, there is a great deal worthy of note. Who seems anxious, and who at ease; who busily tries to build connection, and who is prepared to let opportunity come to them, and who is careless of opportunity at all; who drinks heavily, and who barely touches their glass. Who dances, and who does not.]
[It is this last which interests him most. There are many men who do not dance - his own father among them, dour and haggard in his powdered wig and old regimentals - but fewer ladies, of course; and fewer still whose dance cards, as the evening goes on, are entirely empty. (Faramir himself does not avoid the dancefloor; he is a more than tolerable dancer, and he is not averse to taking a lady's hand if manners seem to demand it, not wishing to be churlish to anyone who approaches him; but he does not approach in turn, and for the most part, is content to spend the evening at the edges of the gathering, in more gentle conversation and, most of all, in listening. But his dance card is not empty, either.)]
[By the fourth or fifth dance, there is only one young woman in the room whom he has not seen, even once, take the floor. In the space between the fifth and sixth, he has sought out Boromir and the other gentlemen gathered in a knot around him, and turned the conversation toward her; it is at once clear that Boromir is not about to move to offer her a dance, since his card is overflowing, and the others do not respond to the gentle urging of shame.]
[But it is shameful, Faramir feels quite certainly, to leave a lady standing at so large a gathering. It does not reflect half so poorly on the lady as on the gentlemen who disregard her.]
[And so, as the quadrille strikes up and the conversation dissipates as gentlemen go to find their partners, Faramir considers only a moment more before crossing over to her. He is a tall man, clad in the regimental green of his dress uniform, his black hair unfashionably straight; there is a grave sternness to his features, but there is a gentleness in his look, too. Properly, he should wait to be introduced - but as he knows nobody who appears to be keeping her company, and she is apparently unchaperoned, he fears he might wait a long time.]
Lady Vengerberg? [Stopping a little distance from her, he essays a polite bow.] If you will forgive my boldness, I had wondered whether I might ask the honour of a dance.
Casimir Zarek | OC | OTA, info and CWs in journal
[[Open to gen, one-sided shipping, or smut. Due warning: he is a genuinely awful person with no regard for others, whose only interest is in accruing power and control, so while he can be quite charming when it suits him, he will always view other characters as expendable tools.]]
[[Marriage or formal courtship will only happen if your character is extraordinarily well-placed politically, but he's absolutely down for ruining someone's life in a less formal capacity, as well as setting up situations to blackmail or otherwise coerce someone. Massive trigger warnings apply, since even outside of sexual situations this man is a walking abuse and manipulation CW.]
elia martell | asoiaf | ota
open to anything!! she is a kind, unjudgmental (mostly) friend to have, and while she absolutely thinks her romantic life is dead at the ripe old age of 28, that does NOT have to be the case. ]
hope this works!
[She feels sick, in a way which has nothing to do with the rattling, unsteady movement of the carriage. Not that she is sorry to be away from Lady Lannister's household... but can this really be any better? The Stark fortunes are currently held in trust, and when she is the only valid inheritor whose whereabouts are known for sure, that makes her - she is unfortunately aware - a valuable asset.]
[And what does she really know about the woman in whose hands she is putting herself? The rumours she has heard about the Martells are hardly reassuring, a muddy swirl of scandals and uncertainties. Once, she would have been able to trust that Lady Martell, more sinned against than sinning, would be kind - but once, she thought Lady Lannister would be kind, too.]
[The carriage draws to a stop, and in the moment it takes for the driver to jump down from his cab to open the door, Sansa does what she can to arrange herself more neatly: to shift the auburn ringlets more fetchingly under her bonnet, to smooth out her skirts, to pinch some colour into her cheeks. If there is one thing she has learned in the past year, it is that being pretty can be a curse - but still, it is hard not to want to make a good impression.]
[The gravel of the driveway crunches a little under her slippers as she lets the driver help her down from the cab, looking up at what is to be her new home. Home? No. Home is Winterfell, will always be Winterfell. But she mustn't let that show on her face, she knows. She must be porcelain-smooth, soft and pliant, and keep her eyes open. A pretty little doll, who would offer no cause for alarm. That is how she will survive, to see her real home again.]
[She is still holding her valise. It is lighter than it has any right to be: a reminder of how little she has, now. She clutches onto it until her knuckles are white, and offers a curtsey to the lady of the house.]
Lady Martell? It's a pleasure to meet you.
elim garak | deep space nine
Mostly looking for an arranged marriage situation, but open to any of the prompts! Garak is roughly middle aged (no confirmed age in canon) so keep that in mind if age gaps bother you.
If you don't want him to be Cardassian, here is what the actor looks like without make-up. ]
Crowley | Good Omens
Shipping probably limited to Aziraphales but flirting and dancing and gaming and hijinks are always options. ;)]
gaming hell pls - walking scandal here
he catches her eye and tips his head in greeting - while the hand not holding his cards idly flips a betting chit back and forth between his fingers. help?]
loki | where mischief lies
Leifr | Pathfinder OC | M/M
alina starkov . shadow & bone . ota
Oliver Putnam | Only Murders In The Building | OTA
Likes: Parlor games, gossip, dancing, matchmaking, free food
Dislikes: Party poopers, staining his clothes, getting kicked out, being told to shut up]