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trainingwings2012-03-27 02:38 am
mylordtoyou) wrote in trainingwings2012-03-27 02:38 am
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There were only so many adjustments that could be required of a man who was highly accustomed to routine, military discipline, and a certain pecking order to the world. There were only so many things a soldier could sacrifice without giving any visual cues to his discomfort.
His wings, a copper colour, had required adjustments not only for the pain, but for bearing them at all. Lord Edrington had mastered a walk that spoke of his leadership, nobility, and that he demanded respect. His shoulders, over the course of years, remained thrust back in a trained position that was natural to the earl. While a general nuisance, the wings had also created a slightly awkward period for the military man, a week in which he was forced to re-acclimate himself with how to hold his own posture. No man at the age of thirty one should be awkward in his gait, and the Brigadier of the 95th Rifles refused to allow it.
Thankfully, sleeping was less of a process. After all, the commander of the British Army's sweepers ought to be highly adaptive. Despite his high place of birth, Lord Edrington had slept in many an uncomfortable place without any hindrance to his rest. A proper bed was a welcome change, despite his circumstances being more than displeasing, and the wings did not hinder the pleasure a mattress and bedding gave him.
The state of affairs in Luceti, however, was entirely different. Here, there was no army, or England, or France for that matter. While the earl took heart in knowing there was neither a Duke of Wellington or a Napoleon ambling about the contained grounds of Luceti, he missed the stricter order that the military--and war, specifically--had given him so generously. A commanding officer without his men, a fighting strategist without organized warfare, a nobleman without stature, Lord Edrington was forced to quickly adapt to a system he found appalling.
It all felt a bit like More. Thomas More, to be specific, though Edrington would have been highly comforted to have General Moore here. Still, it was a selfish thought. England needed its great leaders; while a sore thought, Edrington remained only one lost officer to something far greater. The poor Brigadier had not yet been told that the world outside Luceti came to a halt whilst he remained on its grounds. It was something the officer found himself troubled by, contemplated often, and lamented. Still, there was no point in drudging up what could not be attended to.
What the lord would make a fuss about, however, was that his most current uniform had not been so kindly delivered to any of the clothing shops. For two weeks, Lord Edrington had been keen on adjusting himself to these unfavourable circumstances, practising civility and diplomacy even when conversation with others in the town threatened to dissolve his tact. Yet, somehow, in all that he had been granted, Brigadier Alexander Lauder of the 95th Rifles, the Earl of Edrington had no uniform befitting his rank.
Tense and disgruntled, the founder of the brigade who donned the greens and called themselves "chosen men" walked out of the clothing store and sat on the fountain's edge. His search had remained fruitless, like every other thus far, in an effort to find his beloved green wool. Forced to don the old--and rather loathed--reds of two ranks prior, Lord Edrington sat, an odd looking man to any one who knew that no "lobster" in the uniform of Lieutenant-Colonel for light regiment should be cleaning a Baker Rifle.
The earl knew all too well how few would. Still, it irked him visibly that he should not remain the man he was outside this damned place.
Player Name: Mel
Are you new?: NOPE~
Character Name: Lord Edrington
Character Fandom: Hornblower
His wings, a copper colour, had required adjustments not only for the pain, but for bearing them at all. Lord Edrington had mastered a walk that spoke of his leadership, nobility, and that he demanded respect. His shoulders, over the course of years, remained thrust back in a trained position that was natural to the earl. While a general nuisance, the wings had also created a slightly awkward period for the military man, a week in which he was forced to re-acclimate himself with how to hold his own posture. No man at the age of thirty one should be awkward in his gait, and the Brigadier of the 95th Rifles refused to allow it.
Thankfully, sleeping was less of a process. After all, the commander of the British Army's sweepers ought to be highly adaptive. Despite his high place of birth, Lord Edrington had slept in many an uncomfortable place without any hindrance to his rest. A proper bed was a welcome change, despite his circumstances being more than displeasing, and the wings did not hinder the pleasure a mattress and bedding gave him.
The state of affairs in Luceti, however, was entirely different. Here, there was no army, or England, or France for that matter. While the earl took heart in knowing there was neither a Duke of Wellington or a Napoleon ambling about the contained grounds of Luceti, he missed the stricter order that the military--and war, specifically--had given him so generously. A commanding officer without his men, a fighting strategist without organized warfare, a nobleman without stature, Lord Edrington was forced to quickly adapt to a system he found appalling.
It all felt a bit like More. Thomas More, to be specific, though Edrington would have been highly comforted to have General Moore here. Still, it was a selfish thought. England needed its great leaders; while a sore thought, Edrington remained only one lost officer to something far greater. The poor Brigadier had not yet been told that the world outside Luceti came to a halt whilst he remained on its grounds. It was something the officer found himself troubled by, contemplated often, and lamented. Still, there was no point in drudging up what could not be attended to.
What the lord would make a fuss about, however, was that his most current uniform had not been so kindly delivered to any of the clothing shops. For two weeks, Lord Edrington had been keen on adjusting himself to these unfavourable circumstances, practising civility and diplomacy even when conversation with others in the town threatened to dissolve his tact. Yet, somehow, in all that he had been granted, Brigadier Alexander Lauder of the 95th Rifles, the Earl of Edrington had no uniform befitting his rank.
Tense and disgruntled, the founder of the brigade who donned the greens and called themselves "chosen men" walked out of the clothing store and sat on the fountain's edge. His search had remained fruitless, like every other thus far, in an effort to find his beloved green wool. Forced to don the old--and rather loathed--reds of two ranks prior, Lord Edrington sat, an odd looking man to any one who knew that no "lobster" in the uniform of Lieutenant-Colonel for light regiment should be cleaning a Baker Rifle.
The earl knew all too well how few would. Still, it irked him visibly that he should not remain the man he was outside this damned place.
Player Name: Mel
Are you new?: NOPE~
Character Name: Lord Edrington
Character Fandom: Hornblower
no subject
The Major's eyes caught on the weapon well before they caught on the man; he felt a lump form in his throat as his breath jumped. Skipped. Hitched. God, but he wanted her -- even his fingers twitched. He wanted her even as he could tell, from this distance, that she wasn't his.
But by Heaven, Richard Sharpe wanted that rifle. And when Richard Sharpe didn't get what he wanted, he got sour. Sourer still when he noticed the marks of a Lieutenant-Colonel and blast him.
The Major's back went rigid. He was too close, now, not to engage the other officer. It didn't matter how long he'd been in Luceti, now...all the old behaviours flooded back. He gave a wary salute.
His one strength was that he did have his proper uniform. The buttons weren't polished a bit of the black piping was flapping loose. And an elbow was worn almost-through. But he had the dark green of the 95th on his shoulders even though his company had been broken up and attached to the South Essex instead. But Sharpe refused to take the red coat with yellow facings.
He was a rifleman. And he would wait to be spoken to.
no subject
His voice, however, was quiet, the surprising sight cause for an unusual whispering of thoughts aloud.
"A chosen man of my own regiment I do not recognize." His hand firmly clutched on the rifle, still, Edrington's face relaxed, somewhat. He still appeared bristled, however, despite the proud thrust of his shoulders. It was good to see another man of his time, of England, and even moreso, a Rifleman.
"A sight I thought I would not see in this forsaken place. Major, what is your name?"
no subject
"Richard Sharpe, sir." he stammered as he wished a lot of things. Repeating the rank was useless, seeing as how the Lieutenant-Colonel had already named it.
Which...speaking of? There was probably just a little too much deference in his 'sir'. A private speaking to a Lieutenant-Colonel.
no subject
A few steps forward. He left the rifle to lean against the fountain's edge, the cloth still in one of his gloved hands.
"Alexander Lauder, the Earl of Edrington, Brigadier of the 95th Rifles. Pleased to find a chosen man."
1/2
He needed a moment to process that. Chosen man and all. He touched the white cord of courage on his sleeve -- distinguished. Worth more, in the end, than the Valiant Stormer badge. Worth more than so much and the 95th weren't even whole anymore.
2/2
"Beg pardon, my lord. But I haven't been with the 95th for some time -- attached to the South Essex, instead."
no subject
Or...is it just that Blunt fellow in costume?
no subject
"Mister Kennedy. It has been some years."
no subject
no subject
Edrington takes the hand offered and shakes it firmly, leaving his rifle to lean against the fountain.
"What a place we have found ourselves."