Fic: Jayne Eyre 7/7, complete
Jul. 28th, 2006 07:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bookishwenchFor notes, see chapter 1.
Jayne arrived at Thornfield the next morning, but a horrible surprise awaited him.
“What the blazes happened! Looks like the place got blasted by Reavers!”
The once dignified and stately front of Thornfield Manor was reduced to ashes. Desolation met Jayne’s every look, and a growth of plants in the ruins of the main hall told him that whatever fateful incident had occurred, it had taken place some time since.
Looking for someone to tell the tale of what had happened, Jayne ran to the local tavern, and inquired of the owner what had taken place at Thornfield. The owner or the tavern, of course, had never seen him before and thus was completely in the dark as to his true identity.
“Jayne!”
“Jayne!”
“Hey, Jayne! What’s up? A pint of the usual?”
Pardon me, but am I correct in surmising that every single occupant of the wayward tavern is on a first name basis with you, Jayne?
“Yup.”
Of course. Regardless, Jayne asked the owner to tell him news of Thornfield.
“It burned down nigh on six months ago,” he said, cleaning a glass as he spoke. “Strangest thing I e’er did see. No one knew it, but Mr. Rochester had been keeping his insane wife up in the third story. One night she got out and lit the whole place on fire.”
“Knew they shoulda installed smoke alarms,” Jayne grunted dismally. “Anybody… killed?”
“Aye,” said the tavern owner. “The wench what set the fire threw herself off the roof.”
“So Bertha’s dead?” Jayne said, brightening up. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long while!”
Jayne! For shame! Exulting over the death of a poor, insane creature who plunged to her doom of her own accord!
“Ed’s free, and she weren’t no prize,” Jayne replied sensitively. “Sides, not like I had anythin’ to do with her dyin’. Anythin’ else I should know?”
“Well, Mr. Rochester had climbed onto the roof to save her,” the owner said, inspecting the glass critically. “The roof pitched in and he was buried under the debris.”
“Huh? He alright?” Jayne asked.
“Lost his right arm and an eye, and went blind in the other, but none of it seems to matter to him so much as the loss of his governess. Hold on a mo’… wasn’t that you?” he asked.
“Damn straight!” Jayne yelled, jumping up. “Now where’s he at?”
“He’s gone to his other mansion, Ferndean,” the tavern owner said.
“Ed had two mansions?” Jayne said blankly. “Huh. Guess it always pays to have a spare.”
Like a lightning flash, Jayne ran out the door of the tavern, into the street, and flagged down the first coach he could find.
“To Ferndean, wherever the hell that is, and step on it!” he hollered to the driver.
In an hour’s time, Jayne was alighting in front of a somewhat smaller but rather pleasant mansion, and in a moment’s time after that, he was in the drawing room. There sat Mr. Rochester, looking glumly in the direction of the fire.
“Have you brought me my tea?” he asked, expecting to hear the housekeeper reply.
“Naw,” Jayne replied. “Never could get used to that mamby-pamby wishy-washy stuff.”
“Jayne?!” said Mr. Rochester in delight. “Is it my fairy elf, my sharp-tongued sprite, my little Jayne who forsook me once but shall not leave me again?”
“Uh… it’s me, but I ain’t no elf or fairy or sprite or whatever else you done said. So, I hear Bertha’s kicked it. Wanna get hitched?” he stated romantically.
“Indeed! At once!” Mr. Rochester cried happily.
“Just to make sure, though, there ain’t no other wives you got hid in the broom cupboard or the basement or somethin’?” Jayne asked suspiciously.
“No…,” Mr. Rochester said, looking a bit nervously in the direction of the chimney, even though he couldn’t see it. Perhaps there was a faint “help” heard, but if so, no one paid it any mind.
“Good!” Jayne said.
The next day, they married. Mr. Rochester had dumped Adele in a cheap boarding school after the fire, but Jayne moved her to a much nicer one closer to home so she could visit when she liked.
“C’est merveilleux! Je vais aller a l’ecole tres pres de M. Rochester et ma nouvelle maman, Mlle Eyre. Ou, peut-etre mon nouveau pere? Quelle est le mot correct?”
“Whatever, kid,” Jayne said. “I was just hopin’ Sophie’d come back with you, but hey, guess Ed’s enough.”
A year passed, and just when Jayne thought his cup of joy could hold no more, behold! Mr. Rochester’s remaining eye regained its sight!
“I am so very happy, Jayne,” Mr. Rochester said fondly. “Oh, I almost forgot. Yesterday, the carriage company that drove you away into the night from me so long ago came calling yesterday. It seems you left something in it, and it took them this long to track down your new address.”
“It can’t be,” Jayne said, his hands shaking mightily as he ripped apart the paper on the package. “It IS! VERA!”
And, with a final notation to inform the reader that St. John went to India and promptly died, we draw the curtain over the happy reunion.
“Do me a favor, narrator?”
What?
“Don’t do this to me again, kay?”
I make no promises, Jayne dear, none at all.
I should just like to apologize one final time to the memory of the brilliant Charlotte Bronte, whose original I deeply adore. But this? This was just too rich to pass up. :)
Jayne arrived at Thornfield the next morning, but a horrible surprise awaited him.
“What the blazes happened! Looks like the place got blasted by Reavers!”
The once dignified and stately front of Thornfield Manor was reduced to ashes. Desolation met Jayne’s every look, and a growth of plants in the ruins of the main hall told him that whatever fateful incident had occurred, it had taken place some time since.
Looking for someone to tell the tale of what had happened, Jayne ran to the local tavern, and inquired of the owner what had taken place at Thornfield. The owner or the tavern, of course, had never seen him before and thus was completely in the dark as to his true identity.
“Jayne!”
“Jayne!”
“Hey, Jayne! What’s up? A pint of the usual?”
Pardon me, but am I correct in surmising that every single occupant of the wayward tavern is on a first name basis with you, Jayne?
“Yup.”
Of course. Regardless, Jayne asked the owner to tell him news of Thornfield.
“It burned down nigh on six months ago,” he said, cleaning a glass as he spoke. “Strangest thing I e’er did see. No one knew it, but Mr. Rochester had been keeping his insane wife up in the third story. One night she got out and lit the whole place on fire.”
“Knew they shoulda installed smoke alarms,” Jayne grunted dismally. “Anybody… killed?”
“Aye,” said the tavern owner. “The wench what set the fire threw herself off the roof.”
“So Bertha’s dead?” Jayne said, brightening up. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long while!”
Jayne! For shame! Exulting over the death of a poor, insane creature who plunged to her doom of her own accord!
“Ed’s free, and she weren’t no prize,” Jayne replied sensitively. “Sides, not like I had anythin’ to do with her dyin’. Anythin’ else I should know?”
“Well, Mr. Rochester had climbed onto the roof to save her,” the owner said, inspecting the glass critically. “The roof pitched in and he was buried under the debris.”
“Huh? He alright?” Jayne asked.
“Lost his right arm and an eye, and went blind in the other, but none of it seems to matter to him so much as the loss of his governess. Hold on a mo’… wasn’t that you?” he asked.
“Damn straight!” Jayne yelled, jumping up. “Now where’s he at?”
“He’s gone to his other mansion, Ferndean,” the tavern owner said.
“Ed had two mansions?” Jayne said blankly. “Huh. Guess it always pays to have a spare.”
Like a lightning flash, Jayne ran out the door of the tavern, into the street, and flagged down the first coach he could find.
“To Ferndean, wherever the hell that is, and step on it!” he hollered to the driver.
In an hour’s time, Jayne was alighting in front of a somewhat smaller but rather pleasant mansion, and in a moment’s time after that, he was in the drawing room. There sat Mr. Rochester, looking glumly in the direction of the fire.
“Have you brought me my tea?” he asked, expecting to hear the housekeeper reply.
“Naw,” Jayne replied. “Never could get used to that mamby-pamby wishy-washy stuff.”
“Jayne?!” said Mr. Rochester in delight. “Is it my fairy elf, my sharp-tongued sprite, my little Jayne who forsook me once but shall not leave me again?”
“Uh… it’s me, but I ain’t no elf or fairy or sprite or whatever else you done said. So, I hear Bertha’s kicked it. Wanna get hitched?” he stated romantically.
“Indeed! At once!” Mr. Rochester cried happily.
“Just to make sure, though, there ain’t no other wives you got hid in the broom cupboard or the basement or somethin’?” Jayne asked suspiciously.
“No…,” Mr. Rochester said, looking a bit nervously in the direction of the chimney, even though he couldn’t see it. Perhaps there was a faint “help” heard, but if so, no one paid it any mind.
“Good!” Jayne said.
The next day, they married. Mr. Rochester had dumped Adele in a cheap boarding school after the fire, but Jayne moved her to a much nicer one closer to home so she could visit when she liked.
“C’est merveilleux! Je vais aller a l’ecole tres pres de M. Rochester et ma nouvelle maman, Mlle Eyre. Ou, peut-etre mon nouveau pere? Quelle est le mot correct?”
“Whatever, kid,” Jayne said. “I was just hopin’ Sophie’d come back with you, but hey, guess Ed’s enough.”
A year passed, and just when Jayne thought his cup of joy could hold no more, behold! Mr. Rochester’s remaining eye regained its sight!
“I am so very happy, Jayne,” Mr. Rochester said fondly. “Oh, I almost forgot. Yesterday, the carriage company that drove you away into the night from me so long ago came calling yesterday. It seems you left something in it, and it took them this long to track down your new address.”
“It can’t be,” Jayne said, his hands shaking mightily as he ripped apart the paper on the package. “It IS! VERA!”
And, with a final notation to inform the reader that St. John went to India and promptly died, we draw the curtain over the happy reunion.
“Do me a favor, narrator?”
What?
“Don’t do this to me again, kay?”
I make no promises, Jayne dear, none at all.
I should just like to apologize one final time to the memory of the brilliant Charlotte Bronte, whose original I deeply adore. But this? This was just too rich to pass up. :)
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no subject
Date: 2006-07-28 11:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 05:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-29 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 05:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-29 04:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 05:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 09:57 am (UTC)brilliantinsanity! I'd forgotten how completely f'ked up this novel was - thanks for putting things right at the end. Jayne gets to live happily ever after, with Vera!Now, what was that bit about Mal as Maria in the Sound Of Music?
no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 06:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 07:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-04 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-31 06:25 pm (UTC)He! Oh, Jayne. This was the funniest thing I've read in a long while. I love your brain.
(Also, hi! Here via
no subject
Date: 2006-08-04 08:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-01 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-04 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-04 10:49 am (UTC)Haven't laughed so much in a long time.
*bookmarks*
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Date: 2006-08-04 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-04 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-04 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-07 11:58 am (UTC)And for that, I'm grateful. This is so very funny that I had to fight laughing out loud. (I'm sitting in a public computer pool. Loud laughing wouldn't have been the best of actions.)
This is great. I hope you don't mind me reccing it.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-07 10:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 05:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 07:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 09:04 am (UTC)Hee! *is ded*
I loved the interaction between Jayne and the narrator. Hee.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 07:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-04 12:56 am (UTC)