If the deleted comments show up, those were me, I screwed up. ._. Haha, wow, this prompt is really old. Also wow this takes a ridiculous character like Mole stupidly seriously??? It's less wild than the OP seemed to want, I'm sorry... Also there are probably tons of historical/geographical/etc errors here, so... sorry about that too?? So much apologizing! Wow!
"Trust me on this: you don't wanna know. Audrey? Don't tell him. You shouldn't've told me, but you did, and now I'm telling you, you don't wanna know!" Liévin, Nord-Pas de Calais, France, 1876. The labor is difficult--the baby is too small, the birth is long past its due date, the hours tick up as the labor goes on and on. Finally the tiny creature emerges, screaming before the midwife can even take care of him. He opens tiny little brown eyes and stares up at this strange new open world with a newborn's contempt. His parents beam down at his little glare and the baby is toweled off till his skin shines pink and rosy and clean. It would be the very first and the very last
( ... )
As much as he wished it could, the joy of digging could not pay the bills. A man needs work. When Gaetan is certain he's learned the whole of his land enough to remember it, the Frenchman bids adieu and travels to England.
They call him "Mole," there. Obnoxious Brits though they may be, Gaetan repeats it, savoring it. Taupe, like his father sometimes called him. He likes it.
He finds work there, too, and new rocks. The white cliffs of Dover taste far too delicious to really hate the English. The Frenchman inside him aches a little, but he's enjoying the discovery too much to care.
He learns English, but he doesn't stay. He doesn't like it much, trapped on an island with water on all sides instead of good, wholesome dirt. He pays his way across Europe. You'd be surprised what kind of work you could get, when you're the best at something. Even the best at digging could find his way. Mole remembers the sales pitches his father taught him and never sells himself too short. He always gets himself at least two new shovels before he
( ... )
He breaks through, blinking and cursing, into the sun.
He can hardly see a thing. He's naked and filthy and encrusted with all manner of disgusting residue. All he wears is a pair of goggles on his eyes and a shovel on his back. The dirt covers him as thick as a real mole's fur. Mole sniffs at the air and squints at the people around him and he feels the breeze blowing everywhere on his sensitive, earth-covered skin.
Finally something breaks the silence.
"Well there," says Mr. Thatch. "It looks like we've got company, Whitman."
"Either we've both had too much to drink and we're imagining the underground molemen have finally come for us, or we've just found the man we need." Mole can't really see it yet, but he can feel one of them smile at him. "You a geologist or just insane, son?"
"Of course," snaps Mole. "What else do I look like
( ... )
Lol that ending. Perfect. XD It's nice to come across fic that fleshes out side characters that I didn't think I'd be interested in reading or knowing more about. You did an awesome job with it!
I apologize for the lateness of this, but I've just come back to dig (ha) through this meme and what a joy it is to stumble upon one of my prompts filled! There's no need for you to apologize - it's true I had prompted for something on the wacky side, but what you wrote for me is even *better*. I actually really enjoy plausible, well thought-out back stories like this one
( ... )
Haha, wow, this prompt is really old. Also wow this takes a ridiculous character like Mole stupidly seriously??? It's less wild than the OP seemed to want, I'm sorry...
Also there are probably tons of historical/geographical/etc errors here, so... sorry about that too?? So much apologizing! Wow!
"Trust me on this: you don't wanna know. Audrey? Don't tell him. You shouldn't've told me, but you did, and now I'm telling you, you don't wanna know!" Liévin, Nord-Pas de Calais, France, 1876. The labor is difficult--the baby is too small, the birth is long past its due date, the hours tick up as the labor goes on and on. Finally the tiny creature emerges, screaming before the midwife can even take care of him. He opens tiny little brown eyes and stares up at this strange new open world with a newborn's contempt. His parents beam down at his little glare and the baby is toweled off till his skin shines pink and rosy and clean. It would be the very first and the very last ( ... )
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They call him "Mole," there. Obnoxious Brits though they may be, Gaetan repeats it, savoring it. Taupe, like his father sometimes called him. He likes it.
He finds work there, too, and new rocks. The white cliffs of Dover taste far too delicious to really hate the English. The Frenchman inside him aches a little, but he's enjoying the discovery too much to care.
He learns English, but he doesn't stay. He doesn't like it much, trapped on an island with water on all sides instead of good, wholesome dirt. He pays his way across Europe. You'd be surprised what kind of work you could get, when you're the best at something. Even the best at digging could find his way. Mole remembers the sales pitches his father taught him and never sells himself too short. He always gets himself at least two new shovels before he ( ... )
Reply
He can hardly see a thing. He's naked and filthy and encrusted with all manner of disgusting residue. All he wears is a pair of goggles on his eyes and a shovel on his back. The dirt covers him as thick as a real mole's fur. Mole sniffs at the air and squints at the people around him and he feels the breeze blowing everywhere on his sensitive, earth-covered skin.
Finally something breaks the silence.
"Well there," says Mr. Thatch. "It looks like we've got company, Whitman."
"Either we've both had too much to drink and we're imagining the underground molemen have finally come for us, or we've just found the man we need." Mole can't really see it yet, but he can feel one of them smile at him. "You a geologist or just insane, son?"
"Of course," snaps Mole. "What else do I look like ( ... )
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