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ciirceeWell, here's something different. Honestly, I don't know where it came from. I love the Mummy and the Mummy Returns (1999 and 2001 respectively) but I've never wanted to write fic for it before. I'm not sure why I did now aside from the fact that Edward (that would be the husband) and I were having a mini-marathon.
Just to note: Each section is a true drabble. Because I've apparently got some weird Fic-centric OCD thing happening today.
Other random note: I'm so sick of people writing a fic of more (or less) than one hundred words and calling it a drabble. It is NOT. Quit it. Call it a ficlet. A penta-drabble (um, if it's five hundred words, even, otherwise use stuff like 'quad-drabble blah, blah, shut up, Circe) or hell...call it a 'bit' of fic. Call it a paragraph. But quit calling it a drabble.
Disclaimer: Hm. You know, I’m not sure who owns the rights to ‘The Mummy’. Ain’t me, however, and that’s all we need to know right now.
Dedication: Oh. Um. I don’t know. Anybody else out there running a ‘Mummy-Mummy Returns’ marathon? This is for you then.
The History of First Names
She knew she couldn’t call him ‘that man’ to his face. However, calling him ‘sir’ didn’t feel appropriate for a man who seemed so very…savage. She also couldn’t really imagine calling him ‘mister’ anything. But she refused to call him just ‘O’Connell’ as Jonathan did. While prison life may have damaged his manners and his civility, it certainly hadn’t damaged hers. He was still a human being, in possession of his senses (decorum aside) and therefore deserved the respect of his own name.
He was also the only one who knew the way to Hamunaptra. Mister O’Connell it was, then.
He hadn’t really cared what her name was. ‘Lady’ had worked just fine. And though she’d been a lady, and not just a woman, he’d kissed her. He hadn’t wanted to waste what was probably his last chance. Because, really, what would some uptight, high-society, scholarly lady be able to do about getting him out of prison? He had known that money wouldn’t cut it and it had been clear that she’d never play the only card left.
But she’d pulled something, and it had worked. She was a lady to be reckoned with. He’d have to remember her name.
She thought of him as Rick because…well…to be honest she wasn’t quite certain why; maybe, just a little, because O’Connell was the unkempt, dirty, desperate man from the prison. Standing on the docks he looked like ‘Rick’ rather than ‘O’Connell’. He was carefully groomed, impeccably (if casually) dressed and good lord, he looked nice. She felt a little hot and overdressed, next to him. Of course, she called him Mister O’Connell, as was proper.
She was sure that her perceptions would correct themselves, given enough exposure (time! not exposure!) to Rick (O’Connell! Mister O’Connell!), things would definitely have to change.
Even though her brother called her Evey, he went ahead and called her Evelyn. ‘Evey’ was too playful, too carefree, for the woman who’d manage to squirrel him out of prison. Legally. In fact, he was pretty sure that she was too smart to be an Evey. So he went with his gut instinct, called her Evelyn and got a smile in return. Somehow, and he didn’t even try to guess how it was, he’d earned her respect with that one word.
It looked like the next few days with her were going to be pretty darn simple after all.
Mister O’Connell wasn’t a bad man, once a body got to know him. But she couldn’t call him that. It was impolite, unforgivably rude, to call him by his family name when he’d kissed her. Twice. But it was O’Connell. He was atreasure-hunter. He sold artifacts that belonged in museums to the highest bidder. He wasn’t particularly special. Not in any way. It wouldn’t be so boorish to not use his Christian name. Really. But…first kisses were special, weren’t they? Rudeness and merit aside, didn’t that warrant something?
She called him Mister O’Connell. She thought of him as Rick.
He’d known girls named Evey before. They’d all been the same; soft, pretty, breathless girls eager for a good…story. He was willing to bet that they would have been useless, screaming baggage from the first gunshot, on through the fire, and right up to the wet, cold landing in the river. They would have cried, too, once they were out of the water. They wouldn’t have picked themselves up, wrung themselves out, and started figuring out stuff, from the location of the nearest town, to their current assets, and their ability to exploit both.
She was an Evelyn all right.
Rick told her when he thought she was doing something stupid. O’Connell yelled at her when she did something stupid. Rick listened when she had ideas. O’Connell admitted it when she was right. O’Connell spent a lot of time telling her what to do, but it was like those rare occasions when Jonathan tried to order her around. Almost. Not really. Rick trusted her to do as he wanted. Mostly. O’Connell believed that she could take care of herself. Rick seemed impressed.
It would be silly to call him by his full name. So she called him Rick. Out loud.
He didn’t care if she was the smart one out of the three of them. He didn’t care if she was tougher than she looked. He only cared about her. She’d asked for his help and then she’d walked away trusting him to save her. When the order came to kill them it didn’t matter how badly they were outnumbered. There was only one number that mattered to him.
She scared the hell out of him, knocked his heart into his throat, and kicked his brain into overdrive. A woman like that wasn’t an Evey. She was only ever Evelyn.
Whatever happened, she knew that he’d come for her. Even when it looked terrible, and then looked worse, she knew that he’d make it. She wasn’t sure what drove him, but she had her hopes. She knew what drove her. There was one word, one man, one key to everything. She just had to wait for their arrival. So she didn’t panic, even when she wanted to. He’d be by any second to collect her and then tell her what to do; she’d have to be ready to listen, change his plans, and take action.
Rick was on his way.
There was no way he was letting her go again. Ever. He couldn’t imagine the trouble that she’d get into. Or rather, he could and that was the problem. And while he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to keep her out of trouble (there were lots of things that ‘no harm’ ever came from) he was darn well going to be there to get her out of whatever she’d manage to get in the middle of. She’d definitely have a word or two to say about that. Probably more.
If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be his Evelyn.
Just to note: Each section is a true drabble. Because I've apparently got some weird Fic-centric OCD thing happening today.
Other random note: I'm so sick of people writing a fic of more (or less) than one hundred words and calling it a drabble. It is NOT. Quit it. Call it a ficlet. A penta-drabble (um, if it's five hundred words, even, otherwise use stuff like 'quad-drabble blah, blah, shut up, Circe) or hell...call it a 'bit' of fic. Call it a paragraph. But quit calling it a drabble.
Disclaimer: Hm. You know, I’m not sure who owns the rights to ‘The Mummy’. Ain’t me, however, and that’s all we need to know right now.
Dedication: Oh. Um. I don’t know. Anybody else out there running a ‘Mummy-Mummy Returns’ marathon? This is for you then.
The History of First Names
She knew she couldn’t call him ‘that man’ to his face. However, calling him ‘sir’ didn’t feel appropriate for a man who seemed so very…savage. She also couldn’t really imagine calling him ‘mister’ anything. But she refused to call him just ‘O’Connell’ as Jonathan did. While prison life may have damaged his manners and his civility, it certainly hadn’t damaged hers. He was still a human being, in possession of his senses (decorum aside) and therefore deserved the respect of his own name.
He was also the only one who knew the way to Hamunaptra. Mister O’Connell it was, then.
He hadn’t really cared what her name was. ‘Lady’ had worked just fine. And though she’d been a lady, and not just a woman, he’d kissed her. He hadn’t wanted to waste what was probably his last chance. Because, really, what would some uptight, high-society, scholarly lady be able to do about getting him out of prison? He had known that money wouldn’t cut it and it had been clear that she’d never play the only card left.
But she’d pulled something, and it had worked. She was a lady to be reckoned with. He’d have to remember her name.
She thought of him as Rick because…well…to be honest she wasn’t quite certain why; maybe, just a little, because O’Connell was the unkempt, dirty, desperate man from the prison. Standing on the docks he looked like ‘Rick’ rather than ‘O’Connell’. He was carefully groomed, impeccably (if casually) dressed and good lord, he looked nice. She felt a little hot and overdressed, next to him. Of course, she called him Mister O’Connell, as was proper.
She was sure that her perceptions would correct themselves, given enough exposure (time! not exposure!) to Rick (O’Connell! Mister O’Connell!), things would definitely have to change.
Even though her brother called her Evey, he went ahead and called her Evelyn. ‘Evey’ was too playful, too carefree, for the woman who’d manage to squirrel him out of prison. Legally. In fact, he was pretty sure that she was too smart to be an Evey. So he went with his gut instinct, called her Evelyn and got a smile in return. Somehow, and he didn’t even try to guess how it was, he’d earned her respect with that one word.
It looked like the next few days with her were going to be pretty darn simple after all.
Mister O’Connell wasn’t a bad man, once a body got to know him. But she couldn’t call him that. It was impolite, unforgivably rude, to call him by his family name when he’d kissed her. Twice. But it was O’Connell. He was atreasure-hunter. He sold artifacts that belonged in museums to the highest bidder. He wasn’t particularly special. Not in any way. It wouldn’t be so boorish to not use his Christian name. Really. But…first kisses were special, weren’t they? Rudeness and merit aside, didn’t that warrant something?
She called him Mister O’Connell. She thought of him as Rick.
He’d known girls named Evey before. They’d all been the same; soft, pretty, breathless girls eager for a good…story. He was willing to bet that they would have been useless, screaming baggage from the first gunshot, on through the fire, and right up to the wet, cold landing in the river. They would have cried, too, once they were out of the water. They wouldn’t have picked themselves up, wrung themselves out, and started figuring out stuff, from the location of the nearest town, to their current assets, and their ability to exploit both.
She was an Evelyn all right.
Rick told her when he thought she was doing something stupid. O’Connell yelled at her when she did something stupid. Rick listened when she had ideas. O’Connell admitted it when she was right. O’Connell spent a lot of time telling her what to do, but it was like those rare occasions when Jonathan tried to order her around. Almost. Not really. Rick trusted her to do as he wanted. Mostly. O’Connell believed that she could take care of herself. Rick seemed impressed.
It would be silly to call him by his full name. So she called him Rick. Out loud.
He didn’t care if she was the smart one out of the three of them. He didn’t care if she was tougher than she looked. He only cared about her. She’d asked for his help and then she’d walked away trusting him to save her. When the order came to kill them it didn’t matter how badly they were outnumbered. There was only one number that mattered to him.
She scared the hell out of him, knocked his heart into his throat, and kicked his brain into overdrive. A woman like that wasn’t an Evey. She was only ever Evelyn.
Whatever happened, she knew that he’d come for her. Even when it looked terrible, and then looked worse, she knew that he’d make it. She wasn’t sure what drove him, but she had her hopes. She knew what drove her. There was one word, one man, one key to everything. She just had to wait for their arrival. So she didn’t panic, even when she wanted to. He’d be by any second to collect her and then tell her what to do; she’d have to be ready to listen, change his plans, and take action.
Rick was on his way.
There was no way he was letting her go again. Ever. He couldn’t imagine the trouble that she’d get into. Or rather, he could and that was the problem. And while he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to keep her out of trouble (there were lots of things that ‘no harm’ ever came from) he was darn well going to be there to get her out of whatever she’d manage to get in the middle of. She’d definitely have a word or two to say about that. Probably more.
If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be his Evelyn.
