Phew, glad Hickey was over. I spent so much time looking into English slang for that…and I’m 90% positive I got the regions wrong anyways.
…we really need a dictionary for future fic-writing.
Disclaimer: none of these views are my own, though I tried to stay true to what I believe were the mores of the time
William Johnson
William is considered unusual amongst his compatriots. For one, he had a true desire for peace between the natives and the colonies. For another, he has always found himself fascinated by those of different cultures. He mourned the loss of further knowledge he could have gained before the nearby Kanien’kehake tribe had been razed and was genuinely sad over the slaughter of its people a decade prior.
What a pity that the opportunity to study such a rich, though undoubtedly inferior, culture was lost. Though it could only be expected of the brutes under George Washington’s regiment. Speaking of which…
William turned to the young man that kneels beside him. “And how goes your recent endeavors with the Sons of Liberty?”
The young man can be close-mouthed at times but — there. The narrowing of those large brown eyes in consternation (the same eyes William’s brain had catalogued 10 years ago as spitting with fire and desperation as he watched his village burn…).
“As well as can be expected.” A tanned hand pushes a single stray black hair back (hair that had been singed from the embers as the boy leapt forward ineffectually, kept back from the flames and his burning mother by William’s arm…)
“I suppose you are here to continue our previous studies in Kanien’kehake culture?” A measured glance, carefully devoid of expression (in contrast to the screaming crying child that William had handed off to Reginald’s men…)
“I am in your tutelage…Master Johnson.”
William is not sure what to make of who this strange child of Haytham has become.
Re: You Are A Templar
…we really need a dictionary for future fic-writing.
Disclaimer: none of these views are my own, though I tried to stay true to what I believe were the mores of the time
William Johnson
William is considered unusual amongst his compatriots. For one, he had a true desire for peace between the natives and the colonies. For another, he has always found himself fascinated by those of different cultures. He mourned the loss of further knowledge he could have gained before the nearby Kanien’kehake tribe had been razed and was genuinely sad over the slaughter of its people a decade prior.
What a pity that the opportunity to study such a rich, though undoubtedly inferior, culture was lost. Though it could only be expected of the brutes under George Washington’s regiment. Speaking of which…
William turned to the young man that kneels beside him. “And how goes your recent endeavors with the Sons of Liberty?”
The young man can be close-mouthed at times but — there. The narrowing of those large brown eyes in consternation (the same eyes William’s brain had catalogued 10 years ago as spitting with fire and desperation as he watched his village burn…).
“As well as can be expected.” A tanned hand pushes a single stray black hair back (hair that had been singed from the embers as the boy leapt forward ineffectually, kept back from the flames and his burning mother by William’s arm…)
“I suppose you are here to continue our previous studies in Kanien’kehake culture?” A measured glance, carefully devoid of expression (in contrast to the screaming crying child that William had handed off to Reginald’s men…)
“I am in your tutelage…Master Johnson.”
William is not sure what to make of who this strange child of Haytham has become.