September Blake

Note from WeasleyDragonStar: September is a girl on a ship over to the Northwest Territory, dressed as a boy. Inspired by both Boston Jane and The Picture of Dorian Gray.

“It is by perfect coincidence that you find me standing here,” September Blake conducted herself with an impeccable mask of sincerity. Still, her formidable air could not be concealed by her rough voice, and Ernest Batter was not dim enough to believe her façade.

“And it is with perfect shock that I ask you how you came to be here,” he spluttered, patting his brow with a spoilt napkin.

“The chords of destiny have been strung, Mr. Batter. Life has led me to this place. Dare say a word regarding your knowledge of me, and my anger shall inflate as a cloud that fills with water. And, yes, Mr. Batter, I very well saw that it was on your mind at once.”

“You speak as poetically as ever, my dear,” he said serenely, although he always spoke with that peace. He preferred his true temperament to always retain calmness. Really, he feared September Blake. While she was not one of malice, she was very much one to fear, as her words become jailkeepers on the mind, locking one’s brain in guilt and horrid thoughts. She was a curious creature, her weapons the more curious, there was no question about that.

“Do not change the subject, and do not call me by your sill pet names.” This was another tendency of September Blake. Her words were dressed in armor, armed with daggers. “If you dare reveal anything, then my power is superior to yours. I cannot say I regret torturing the men that I have found guilty of doing awful things, but I would not like to have reason to do it to you, Mr. Batter.”

“I will not pretend that your threats do not frighten me. I have known you too long a time to be so conceited to think otherwise.”

“Ah. You are much wiser that James Clark. Damn that blasted fool!”

“I remember the days in which you did not curse,” he smiled sadly, nostalgia rich and ripe in his voice. “In which your mind was pure and not spoilt by the contaminations that the world proposes to the already foul species of human beings.”

September Blake could not even think to chastise him for changing the subject of conversation once more. She was so incensed that those dark, haunting eyes beat with the ghosts of her anger.

“If only you were the one to keep good care of my notebooks, Mr. Batter, then you would understand that my only untarnished day was my first day of life. After that, I grew crude and vile in nature. I will spare you the utter indecencies of my mind. All you need knowing is that much worse curses live through my mind.”

“Ah, ah,” Ernest shook his head, fearing that he had lost her. “My dear September Blake, I am hoping that you forgive my impertinence. But there was something of far more importance to tell you about. Since the moment I met you, when you were but a small girl of ten, in a thin cotton gown, and I was the age of seventeen, you have intrigued me.”

“What are you proposing?” September asked, rightfully alarmed.

“It would never be love, Miss Blake. I know very well that we are friendly. Me perhaps more than yourself, but that is simply because you are cold to everyone. I liked your air at once. I took an interest in you. Somehow, I knew that my fears and worries could be stored into you. Not out of selfish desire, of having to have another person take them and make my concerns their own, but a type of confider. You are frosty, like my grandfather, but strangely consoling.”

“I see. And what do you have to tell me.”

Ernest inhaled deeply. “My bond to Bastian is very dangerous.”

“Wait…what do you mean by ‘bond’, pray? Are my thoughts truth? Dear Mr. Batter, do tell me that what I think is not true. I should feel too sorry for you if it is.”

“I have always had an interest in females. The sex has a tragedy that I cannot describe, and their beauty is definitely superior to that of males. But…men possess a different charm. And there is much that I cannot understand or control about the way I feel.”

“My dear Mister Batter, I am unsure of words to offer. Are you searching for some type of consolation, or just somebody to tell? Your intentions are unclear, for you called me a consoler and confider.”

“Um, the latter, I suppose. I am unafraid of your reaction. I tried to ascertain myself that you shall be angry, or disgusted, so that I am prepared for you.”

“I am neither angry nor disgusted. I am a bit surprised, like many would be when long-time acquaintances tell others what popular society deems formidable aspects of personalities.”

“So you are not, disgusted, Blake?”

“I am a bit, but only with your shoes,” September smiled genially. She is very pretty when she smiles, like many are. A gentle turn of the lips so improves the beauty of almost any person, with the exception of a cruel one. “I don’t suppose you have cleaned them off in a very long time.”

“I do not deny your remark,” Ernest laughed. “They have been neglected the pleasure of a bath for too long. Their owner, too.” He paused, thought shadowing his eyes. “I am proud of you, September.”

“For what, may I ask?”

“Your admirable person. Thoughts that are so contorted and scathed that they shock even the greatest of philosophers, and yet that are so virgin that they honor the great Lord above. You are a great person, and I am honored to have had confided such a secret in you. Promise that you won’t tell?”

“Of course, Mr. Batter. And do be sure not to tell mine.”

“Yes, Blake. I will not tell.”

“Now, shall we go under the deck?”

“Where do you sleep, pray?”

“I sleep in the storage room, with nobody else.”

“Ah! I do see. And when do you plan on telling the crew this dangerous truth that has been plaguing you since the beginning?”

“One we get to the shore. Otherwise the captain will throw me onto a deserted island.”

“Shan’t it be the surprise of the century when they discover that Samuel Blake of the large sea mast is in fact September Blake of Maine?” They marched down the steps.

What a mixture of a party! I must say that the Marine with just one tooth would frighten the most courageous of souls, for his failing, chipped brow swung down in an upset manner, and his mouth refused any sign of greeting. A man of, let us estimate forty years, lounged in the seat by the stack of botanical books, waiting for one of the youths to finish speaking.

Oh, I have not forgotten to describe and explain the precarious details of the youths.

These youths, ripe in their age, possessed beautiful legs and feet and arms and hands that were blessed with such a peculiar grace that not even God knows how to mimic (of course, it could be argued that God was the one to make them, but let us disregard that, and call them “God’s Envy”).

The spirit of the arched doe had claimed their every whim. What unusual charm they had! When they smiled, one was overcome with the strange sensation of reading an excellent romance novel, where the star-crossed lovers declare ardent passion for each other. The four eyes flashed with undefinable color, the best color of all, and September felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch them, both the pair of stricken yellow and sad pebbles. What peculiar eyes!

And to see their lovely, unwashed hair. When washed, their locks looked like the gorgeous plumage of a bird. When unwashed, their locks looked like the gorgeous plumage of a bird. So few human beings can be blessed to have such an extraordinary spell cast upon them that they are able to capture those wonderful aspects of beauty.

But these two men varied in such ways that they cannot always be pieced together in the same way as I had just now. One was a virgin; the other was not. One was a regular sinner, who enjoyed exploits of the worst fashions imaginable; the other refused such temptations. And one despised pain with so much vigor that he caused the world around him to tremble as his anger could not be suppressed; the other was neither so rash nor selfish.

These differences separated them, an unknowable wall repressing both refined talk and lengthy debates. It is with regret that I reveal that the heroine of this tale will come to know both. One is surely the enchanting man whom the crew would come to love; the other masks a completely horrid monster behind his delightful face.