#esme marshall

[dozydawn]

Models: Kathryn Redding, Jennifer Houser, Charissa Craig, and Esme Marshall.

[dozydawn]

Vogue, September 1979.

Photographed by Irving Penn.

Model: Esme Marshall.

[dozydawn]

Valentino, 1979.

Photographed by Arthur Elgort.

Models: Esme Marshall and Tara Shannon.

[orchidscript]

👀 if you’re still doing this and thank you :)

of course! I love asks, ask games, and will keep answering until they quit showing up -- so no worries ever on being late or anything :)

(And thank you for asking!)

****

Bryn hissed as the latest blow landed true. "I fail to understand the enjoyment he gets from this."

"You and I alone apparently," Esme rolled her eyes at James' shoulders. Cuts dripped down his face and onto his neck, turning into gory smears with every glance swipe of his opponent. She curled her nose and glanced up at her viewing companion. "Why did you join us if you have such a distaste for it."

"I saw your last set of stitches, Miss Marshall," Bryn answered smoothly. "Best not to take your instruction from your patient."

"Beggars can't be choosers, but I appreciate your concern." Esme watched as James side-stepped a jab, then walked into a blow to the mouth. Tonight's round was a particular brand of brutality, of savagery. A fight until the loser was prone on the dirt beneath their shoes. "I'll certainly have use for a guiding hand tonight."

"I'd be happy to."

"Perhaps you can talk some well-needed good sense into him. If you'd be so kind."

Bryn chuckled and crossed his arms over his coat. "You're kind to think I, let alone anyone, could."

Esme hummed, attention turned back towards the fight. Bryn Prisk was an interesting character. He had shown up in her life about the same time James had, by virtue of Bryn following James into the fray. James' childhood friend, he was a bona fide physician; already practicing while his friends languished in anatomy theaters and practicals.

They didn't speak much, preferring company in their quiet concern, the mutual annoyance at their own permissiveness. Esme appreciated his presence -- steady, focused, patient, and quick. He had a way of settling James enough for the other man to be tolerable. Prisk was courteous and genteel in that particular of the wealthy. It never occurred to Esme as anything less than genuine.

"Oof... you'll be sewing up that one." Bryn winced.

Esme grimaced. "This should have been over by now. He's toying with him like a cat with a stunned rat."

[orchidscript]

29 whumper for any of your OCs?

~khal

thank you @whump-ventures, this is absolutely delightful! hopefully my vague-tipsiness won't get in the way of this being understandable! So I wrote this using OCs that haven't, I don't know... "premiered" yet. So meet James Easom and Esme Marshall, my Victorian whump un-friends!

whump dialogue prompts

cw: historic whump, physical injuries, illegal prizefighting/bare-knuckle boxing, stitches, inexperienced physician.

~*~*~

“You know what your problem is?" Esme sniffed, fingers perched over the torn skin of his arm.

James barked a laugh, then sucked in a sharp breath as the needle pierced his skin again. Esme had a quick hand, a swift purpose, but her stitches were always sloppy. He supposed they wouldn't be if he ever gave her the proper lesson she had been asking for. "What's that, then?"

"You fight too fair.”

"I've never been accused of that before."

"Color me surprised." Esme frowned. She blotted at the torn cut, blood oozing up from the insides despite it being several hours old now. Her black hair tumbled over her shoulder, relieved of its constraints under the hat she had shoved it under for the match. "You do. You're quick enough to knock them back or out before they could land a good punch, but you let it last."

James smirked at her, the expression breaking with each wince. He did his best to keep his arm still on the library's table. "Oh do I?"

She raised her eyes to him. A cold disdain he knew so well lay there, open and obvious to all. "Sometimes I think you enjoy getting hit."

"Do you?"

"Don't be fresh with me, Mr. Easom."

"Ah!" James gasped as the needle poked a bit too deeply. "Careful there."

"Oh, do forgive me," she answered in the driest of tones. "But, like I said, if you like getting hurt, I'm more than happy to satisfy that craving."

James raised an eyebrow.

Esme didn't waver. "I've always thought posh, snotty boys like you could always use a good beating. I bet you'd pay good money for it."

"That's where you're wrong, Ms. Marshall," James said, even and easy. She raised an eyebrow at him and he continued. "People pay me good money to get beaten. I don't pay a red cent for the bloody privilege."

That earned him a dry, harsh laugh. "Bloody privilege, indeed..."

[orchidscript]

🌹

eep! thank you Sable!! A little Victorian whump for your trouble?

"Good morning, Miss Marshall."

Esme closed the book and turned her face up, coming face-to-face with Jasper Easom. He was not as he had left her the night before. His face was bloody, bruised about the eyes and jaw. Her mouth dropped open as she took in his pulped features, then banished the shock to scowl openly at the man. "You didn't listen to me, did you?"

Jasper shrugged inside his great coat. "Something like that."

"Get off my counter, Mr. Easom," Esme huffed, pushing his wet sleeves away from the precious volumes stacked there. She crossed her arms over the front of her dour navy-blue blouse. "I suppose you're here to request my expertise and sewing needles?"

[cosechadehuellas]

Esme Marshall, Vogue 1979

- Arthur Elgort

[automneyeux]

Esmé Marshall by Irving Penn