The Last Robotica (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thefolksbetween) wrote2009-06-25 08:02 pm
thefolksbetween) wrote2009-06-25 08:02 pm
Entry tags:
Blame - Geroge
Who: George, from the City. With some Wembley as well.
What: Emoness and pain. Random violence for me to give to George!
Where: The City – a Personal RP World
Why: Because I could.
Rating: PG 17? For implied violence? I donno.
He’d taken the blame. He stepped up and spoke in, saying it was his responsibility. He’d taken the blame and now he regretted it. No, not regretted, for that would say he wish he hadn’t have done it. No, he’d have done it again if he had too. He’d have stepped in and taken responsibility for it once again if he knew what he knew now. So it wasn’t regret really, but just a simple desire to not hurt so badly.
It started with the Master of the house leaving. The mans brother and son would be staying for one week in the house, and they were to appease him and his every whim. The boy was a brat, young and spoiled and got what ever he wanted, even at the age of 10. The brother was as well, spoiled, and the Master knew it. But what the brother wanted, he got.
With the master and most of his family away on vacation and what not, George had to serve the Brother. This was… not such a simple task really. Four maids were in charge of watching the boy, and even then he was a hand full. The brother on the other hand had so many orders it was very hard to keep up with, and no matter how perfect George’s hand picked grew of perfect servents tried, they were always wrong.
That afternoon though was a disaster. The young boy had given chase to the maids, causing a bit of havoc all over the Northern wing of the home. In the end the boy had fallen into the pool and nearly drowned. Thankfully George himself had actually seen what happened, was there when he fell, and dove in to rescue the boy. He had only just managed to pull him out, the child kicking and screaming and fighting him the whole way. Even george, who was a damn good swimmer had his breath kicked out of him. Bringing the boy up he gasped, several attendents pulling the boy to safty.
To cover for the fall, the boy cried to his father that he was pushed in, and that man had to do it, pointing a finger at George. Everyone protested, but the Brother was not at all pleased. There was arguments, and the young boy was crying, screaming, freezing there, still scared and wet. George bowed to the man, head down, and took the blame. After all, he should have had better staff looking after the little shit.
The day went on, and more incidents occurred. The boy was on a rampage, and in the end thrw so many fits that his staff were all murderious to him. Not even the master or his family treated them so foully. Even the gardening Staff had taken to brandishing a trowel or shovel at the little brat. It was when an accident, had not seemed like such an accident, out in the Young Master’s work shop, that George took all the blame.
He was unsure of what happened, unsure if Wembley had done anything or not. But he’d not let the blame fall on him at all. One can’t even discrible what exactly happened, but the family doctor had come and put a cast on the boys arm. A cast that just made him even harder to bare. That evening he was called into the Brothers room. That evening he limped off, returning to his own room, unable to look at anyone.
The stress of his own fathers job had never really hit him until these moments. Moments when he didn’t want to be the responcible one for anything. Moments hwne he found it unfair that he was the on taking on all of this crap. 80 something people and he was responcible for them all. All of their actions. The Master never punished with physical punishments. Not like this. His bother on the other hand did.
George had been sunk down in a bath tub, his father luxuery of his room, and filled it with Epson salts, to help pull out infections. He had it as hot as he could, and just laid there, back arched so it didn’t touch the sides, hands over his face, trying not to scream still. He had bit his tongue with the first hit, and focused on the taste of the blood for the next 7 lashes. The last two didn’t even hurt. One hit for ever responcibility he had taken on today. But he’d rather take them then any of his people. He’d rather take it then let that man lash out at Wembley.
He soaked, and soon climbed out, driped and tried to dress, though a shirt, today, would be unheard of. It was bed time anyhow, and so he would go to sleep, read nothing, no music, no nothing at all but sleep, on his belly. He planed to tell no one of this, not even Wembley, though sadly those plans would change, very soon.
One could say that his staff didn’t respect Wembely as well as he wished. They didn’t see in him what he saw in him. He himself was… getting closer. He’d gotten very close to him and… well he’d just wanted to keep him near by, always. He’d not leave this place, ever, if he had to, so long as he could keep an eye on the boy. In his mind he even called him His Boy, because no one else would.
At the moment though, he couldn’t face him, and wouldn’t tell him what happened. It would be better by tomorrow, and in a weeks time the Master’s relitives would be gone. It would be alright once again, soon, perhaps.
Laying carefully down in ohis bed he let out a huge sigh, pajama bottoms on, and back exposed. Now, it was said before, his staff never got along that well wit hteh Young Master, but they were all starting to see how he and the Head of Staff george were… bonding. It was something of a shock to some, but slowly it seemed to make some of the maids and such happier for him. He deserved to be happy too, right? They knew he was getting closer, and what a burden he had just taken on. One of the young girls, Martha, had run to the Young Master, to inform him of what she had heard.
“Mister George took a beating, Young Master. He’s locked himself away for the night, but a lot of us are worried, Sir. Please check on him?” if he cared at all, she though, he’d check on him.
She, as well as the others who heard of it, were most pleased with the reaction, to the fact that he tried to brush it off, but was on the move swiftly. They left it be, knowing the Mister would be alright, as long as the Young Master was making sure of it. Right? They still tried to keep an ear out, and they covered for him that night, if anything was called for.
George how ever would not be pleased with the fact that as he lay there in bed, tryignto sleep and rest, trying to let the burn fade away, that there was a knock at his window, and a figure slipping into his room. For oncei n his life, he let out a very childish sound, a whimper of embarrassment, his arms wrapping around a pillow as he let out a yell, muffled by fabric “Go away!”
This was, infact somethigngeorge never, ever would have said, even as a child. But the truth is, to know that Wembely would come, to check on him, to see him, even like this… it upset him. He was hurting, and that was the last thing he needed this boy to see. He had to be the strong one, and so, in a moment he would turn, to hide his back, only… he wasn’t fast enough. As he went to move, slender hands touched his shoulders, around unharmed spaces of skin, and soon a body fell in beside him.
His face burned with an angry blush, bu he didn’t move. He didn’t tell him to leave or push him away. He felt a scruffy head of the Young Master lean in to his, and nuzzle his ear, just curling up with him. He said nothing, unable to say ANYTHING, and rested there. Actually relaxing there with the boy.
Wembley was the only person who could ever make him relax.
What: Emoness and pain. Random violence for me to give to George!
Where: The City – a Personal RP World
Why: Because I could.
Rating: PG 17? For implied violence? I donno.
He’d taken the blame. He stepped up and spoke in, saying it was his responsibility. He’d taken the blame and now he regretted it. No, not regretted, for that would say he wish he hadn’t have done it. No, he’d have done it again if he had too. He’d have stepped in and taken responsibility for it once again if he knew what he knew now. So it wasn’t regret really, but just a simple desire to not hurt so badly.
It started with the Master of the house leaving. The mans brother and son would be staying for one week in the house, and they were to appease him and his every whim. The boy was a brat, young and spoiled and got what ever he wanted, even at the age of 10. The brother was as well, spoiled, and the Master knew it. But what the brother wanted, he got.
With the master and most of his family away on vacation and what not, George had to serve the Brother. This was… not such a simple task really. Four maids were in charge of watching the boy, and even then he was a hand full. The brother on the other hand had so many orders it was very hard to keep up with, and no matter how perfect George’s hand picked grew of perfect servents tried, they were always wrong.
That afternoon though was a disaster. The young boy had given chase to the maids, causing a bit of havoc all over the Northern wing of the home. In the end the boy had fallen into the pool and nearly drowned. Thankfully George himself had actually seen what happened, was there when he fell, and dove in to rescue the boy. He had only just managed to pull him out, the child kicking and screaming and fighting him the whole way. Even george, who was a damn good swimmer had his breath kicked out of him. Bringing the boy up he gasped, several attendents pulling the boy to safty.
To cover for the fall, the boy cried to his father that he was pushed in, and that man had to do it, pointing a finger at George. Everyone protested, but the Brother was not at all pleased. There was arguments, and the young boy was crying, screaming, freezing there, still scared and wet. George bowed to the man, head down, and took the blame. After all, he should have had better staff looking after the little shit.
The day went on, and more incidents occurred. The boy was on a rampage, and in the end thrw so many fits that his staff were all murderious to him. Not even the master or his family treated them so foully. Even the gardening Staff had taken to brandishing a trowel or shovel at the little brat. It was when an accident, had not seemed like such an accident, out in the Young Master’s work shop, that George took all the blame.
He was unsure of what happened, unsure if Wembley had done anything or not. But he’d not let the blame fall on him at all. One can’t even discrible what exactly happened, but the family doctor had come and put a cast on the boys arm. A cast that just made him even harder to bare. That evening he was called into the Brothers room. That evening he limped off, returning to his own room, unable to look at anyone.
The stress of his own fathers job had never really hit him until these moments. Moments when he didn’t want to be the responcible one for anything. Moments hwne he found it unfair that he was the on taking on all of this crap. 80 something people and he was responcible for them all. All of their actions. The Master never punished with physical punishments. Not like this. His bother on the other hand did.
George had been sunk down in a bath tub, his father luxuery of his room, and filled it with Epson salts, to help pull out infections. He had it as hot as he could, and just laid there, back arched so it didn’t touch the sides, hands over his face, trying not to scream still. He had bit his tongue with the first hit, and focused on the taste of the blood for the next 7 lashes. The last two didn’t even hurt. One hit for ever responcibility he had taken on today. But he’d rather take them then any of his people. He’d rather take it then let that man lash out at Wembley.
He soaked, and soon climbed out, driped and tried to dress, though a shirt, today, would be unheard of. It was bed time anyhow, and so he would go to sleep, read nothing, no music, no nothing at all but sleep, on his belly. He planed to tell no one of this, not even Wembley, though sadly those plans would change, very soon.
One could say that his staff didn’t respect Wembely as well as he wished. They didn’t see in him what he saw in him. He himself was… getting closer. He’d gotten very close to him and… well he’d just wanted to keep him near by, always. He’d not leave this place, ever, if he had to, so long as he could keep an eye on the boy. In his mind he even called him His Boy, because no one else would.
At the moment though, he couldn’t face him, and wouldn’t tell him what happened. It would be better by tomorrow, and in a weeks time the Master’s relitives would be gone. It would be alright once again, soon, perhaps.
Laying carefully down in ohis bed he let out a huge sigh, pajama bottoms on, and back exposed. Now, it was said before, his staff never got along that well wit hteh Young Master, but they were all starting to see how he and the Head of Staff george were… bonding. It was something of a shock to some, but slowly it seemed to make some of the maids and such happier for him. He deserved to be happy too, right? They knew he was getting closer, and what a burden he had just taken on. One of the young girls, Martha, had run to the Young Master, to inform him of what she had heard.
“Mister George took a beating, Young Master. He’s locked himself away for the night, but a lot of us are worried, Sir. Please check on him?” if he cared at all, she though, he’d check on him.
She, as well as the others who heard of it, were most pleased with the reaction, to the fact that he tried to brush it off, but was on the move swiftly. They left it be, knowing the Mister would be alright, as long as the Young Master was making sure of it. Right? They still tried to keep an ear out, and they covered for him that night, if anything was called for.
George how ever would not be pleased with the fact that as he lay there in bed, tryignto sleep and rest, trying to let the burn fade away, that there was a knock at his window, and a figure slipping into his room. For oncei n his life, he let out a very childish sound, a whimper of embarrassment, his arms wrapping around a pillow as he let out a yell, muffled by fabric “Go away!”
This was, infact somethigngeorge never, ever would have said, even as a child. But the truth is, to know that Wembely would come, to check on him, to see him, even like this… it upset him. He was hurting, and that was the last thing he needed this boy to see. He had to be the strong one, and so, in a moment he would turn, to hide his back, only… he wasn’t fast enough. As he went to move, slender hands touched his shoulders, around unharmed spaces of skin, and soon a body fell in beside him.
His face burned with an angry blush, bu he didn’t move. He didn’t tell him to leave or push him away. He felt a scruffy head of the Young Master lean in to his, and nuzzle his ear, just curling up with him. He said nothing, unable to say ANYTHING, and rested there. Actually relaxing there with the boy.
Wembley was the only person who could ever make him relax.