coprime_recs: Chouji and Shikamaru on a roof cloud-watching (Default)
The Omelette (Pencroff-Harbert | G | 1,706 words): Harbert is sick, and Pencroff is worried. This is one of those recs where I expect no one else is going to read this story because who in the world else is interested in Jules Verne novels that aren't 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Around the World in 80 Days, but well. I will always want to read any and everything fic written about these shipwrecked fellows. This particular fic is completely charming and replicates Verne's style delightfully. The story manages to swing from an extremely angsty beginning to a very humorous ending without it being jarring. And the point of view is so perfectly Pencroff, mercurial and dramatic and just a little bit ridiculous, that I could never not love this story.

Then the hope would come for a moment, and he'd realise what a fool he was being. Harbert would survive. Why, when he returned, Harbert might have opened his eyes already! After all, Cyrus, Gideon Spillet and their mysterious protector would all be taking care of his child, of course.

But he was being twice the fool he'd thought himself just a moment ago. As if he could suppose that Harbert would live. He had only to look at his face, Harbert's face, white and hot--his hair, wet with sweat--and if Pencroff were to take one of Harbert's hands, he was sure it would be trembling weakly. Harbert was as good as dead.

But no, no, how could he even begin to doubt Cyrus would save Harbert? After all, he was Cyrus! It would all be all right. It was only a matter of time, perhaps a very short matter of time. Perhaps he should go back now, so that if the first person Harbert wanted was him, he would there.

And on and on it went, the same thing nearly every day.
coprime_recs: Chouji and Shikamaru on a roof cloud-watching (Default)
Casus et Certum (Cyrus/Ayrton, Pencroff/Ayrton | PG | 5,335 words): Ayrton angsts about his place among Lincoln Island's inhabitants. I love everything about this so very, very much. The Mysterious Island may be my favorite book ever. And, given that Jules Verne really doesn't have a fandom, I didn't think I'd ever find anything. But I did! And it is good! It is, in fact, better than good because it is well-characterized and beautiful and completely captures the feel of the novel. And, oh, Ayrton. He's so conflicted and guilt-ridden over everything, and I just want him to be happy.

"Ah, well, you'll get another shot at him, I expect," said Pencroff, with a purposeful nod.

"We might only hope that he doesn't," Mr. Spilett admonished from above Ayrton's head. "It would be better for all of us if there were no more need to go on shooting."

"But that's impossible. Now they know we're here, they'll hardly stop short of trying to kill us, will they?" Pencroff demanded.

"Certainly not. Nevertheless, Pencroff, you ought to stop wishing things on Ayrton when you've no idea what he wants. Now, hand me that roll of bandage."

Pencroff complied, and then sat quietly for a bit, watching the two of them thoughtfully. Ayrton observed that he had blue eyes. At last, Pencroff got up and went out, throwing an amiable 'Well then, I shall see you in a while' over his shoulder. Ayrton craned his head around, trying to be unobtrusive and catch a look at Mr. Spilett at the same time. Mr. Spilett looked back at him with slightly amused and slightly exasperated expression on his face.

"Don't mind Pencroff, Ayrton. He doesn't realise--"

"I don't mind it, Mr. Spilett. It's all right."

"Very well. Here, hold still, and I shall be done in a moment."

Afterwards, when he'd been tended to and approved of and there was nothing they needed him for because they must wait until dawn came to see whether the pirates' ship had gone, he went out to the door and sat in the vine-covered elevator, his long legs dangling over the side. It was, perhaps, a risk, but the elevator was well-concealed, and he wanted to be out in the open. He had no right to be in Granite House.