undrcovrbrothr
Beach nut
~BBW, Fantasy, Romance, Mild ~Sex- This is the unofficial record of the life of Captain Charles Miville, explorer for the King of France, Louis XIII. A man born in troubled times that saw France tear itself apart, Charles Miville was undaunted in his quest for personal glory, wealth, and love. Numerous times, the course of history was changed by the desires of one man- but how is this possible? The tale can now be told, aided by the writings of the man himself, and of his loyal second, Toussaint Lemelin dit Lafleur.
[Editors note: this story is unique in that it comes replete wth its own separate character background and context commontary thread, found here. We invite comments on this technique, which is not unheard of in general literature but not that common in Weight Related Fiction)
Chapter I: "Petit-Charles" Runs Away
On the 1st of November in Bretagne, bells from the cathedral towers toll in honor of the Saints, and today it is no different. Hawkish seagulls circle the stone spires in search of their prey or a perch to rest from, but even for them transiting has proven difficult. You see, during the feast in Nantes, the city is crowded with artisans, peasants, restless children, common riff-raff, and foreigners of every type seeking trade or business with the local merchants. This holiday brings everyone out from their hovels it seems, and for Charles it was no different. Navigating his way through the masses, he was trying to catch up to his brother as they made their way down the dirty side streets parallel to the main road, weaving in and out, huffing and puffing all the while.
"Emile! Wait! I cannot run as fast as you!!", Charles shouted down the Rue des Jardins, flailing his arms in a senseless, haphazard way. After several minutes, Charles arrived at their shared destination, a small butcher's shop near the Cathedral. It seemed as if they were late, for his mother stared Charles down in an instant, and grabbed his ear and twisted it sharply. "Petit-Charles!", she shrieked for all to hear. "Where have you been, you beastly child? I have waited here for you and your brother to meet me here to carry our share of the feast. You are very ungrateful, and you shall be punished accordingly!"
Charles knew that he had not been as fast as his brother, but for some reason he always seemed to receive the wrath of his mother, ever since he lost his father to the sharp blade of a Huguenot. "Now, Petit-Charles, you will stand right here and wait in this line for this cut of meat, while I go with Emile to find him something nice to wear for the mass. You better not leave, or I shall leave you in the pantry for a full day, and I swear it! Here, take these livres and get only the best cut, do you hear?"
Standing next to a few total strangers had always made Charles nervous, but on this day it seemed to get much worse after the tongue-lashing his mother had given him, coupled with the threat. Life without Father has made Charles, a boy of 13, into a man far too soon than any boy should endure. He took many beatings for his brother, and for things that had been his fault but were very minor infractions even in the strictest of homes. The pain his mother felt was instantly absorbed into his body as each blow fell, and the sum total of it all had made him numb to the abuse he endured. The livres he had been handed which were once grasped with a tight hand now felt much nicer as he opened his right hand to peek at the money.
The silver coins bearing the likeness of King Henry instantly caused Charles to stare at the portrait. His mind, overgrown with fear and despair, now turned towards a daydream. Charles could see himself, dressed in royal garb, accepting gifts and favors from the court, enjoying what he had never had in his life- a soft bed, good meals, respect, and people that listened to him rather than ignore him and silence him. The dream was shattered with the loud, booming voice of the butcher.
"Boy, what is it that you want? Speak up, or I shall send you off!" Charles, as if some kind of overwhelming force had taken over his body, began to scream. "Non, Monsieur! No more!", he strained to yell out as he fled the scene of his embarassment, thinking over and over in his mind what he should really do with the money he had been given.
It was time for Petit-Charles to grow up, and as he thought about mid-run what he was going to do, there could only be one place he could go to rid himself of the nightmares he faced- the harbor. A boat, a ship, anything to dull the pain and to run away- away from a life that brought his nothing but abject misery. It wasn't long before his dust filled eyes caught a glimpse of something magical- the mizzen mast of the largest ship Charles had ever laid eyes on before. Something nagging at him told him to set his course for that mast, and he did, running as fast as possible in his long-worn shoes.
[Editors note: this story is unique in that it comes replete wth its own separate character background and context commontary thread, found here. We invite comments on this technique, which is not unheard of in general literature but not that common in Weight Related Fiction)
MIVILLE: Everything to Gain, Nothing to Lose
by undrcovrbrothr
This shall be an ongoing series that will be labeled accordingly. Look for updates!
by undrcovrbrothr
This shall be an ongoing series that will be labeled accordingly. Look for updates!
Chapter I: "Petit-Charles" Runs Away
On the 1st of November in Bretagne, bells from the cathedral towers toll in honor of the Saints, and today it is no different. Hawkish seagulls circle the stone spires in search of their prey or a perch to rest from, but even for them transiting has proven difficult. You see, during the feast in Nantes, the city is crowded with artisans, peasants, restless children, common riff-raff, and foreigners of every type seeking trade or business with the local merchants. This holiday brings everyone out from their hovels it seems, and for Charles it was no different. Navigating his way through the masses, he was trying to catch up to his brother as they made their way down the dirty side streets parallel to the main road, weaving in and out, huffing and puffing all the while.
"Emile! Wait! I cannot run as fast as you!!", Charles shouted down the Rue des Jardins, flailing his arms in a senseless, haphazard way. After several minutes, Charles arrived at their shared destination, a small butcher's shop near the Cathedral. It seemed as if they were late, for his mother stared Charles down in an instant, and grabbed his ear and twisted it sharply. "Petit-Charles!", she shrieked for all to hear. "Where have you been, you beastly child? I have waited here for you and your brother to meet me here to carry our share of the feast. You are very ungrateful, and you shall be punished accordingly!"
Charles knew that he had not been as fast as his brother, but for some reason he always seemed to receive the wrath of his mother, ever since he lost his father to the sharp blade of a Huguenot. "Now, Petit-Charles, you will stand right here and wait in this line for this cut of meat, while I go with Emile to find him something nice to wear for the mass. You better not leave, or I shall leave you in the pantry for a full day, and I swear it! Here, take these livres and get only the best cut, do you hear?"
Standing next to a few total strangers had always made Charles nervous, but on this day it seemed to get much worse after the tongue-lashing his mother had given him, coupled with the threat. Life without Father has made Charles, a boy of 13, into a man far too soon than any boy should endure. He took many beatings for his brother, and for things that had been his fault but were very minor infractions even in the strictest of homes. The pain his mother felt was instantly absorbed into his body as each blow fell, and the sum total of it all had made him numb to the abuse he endured. The livres he had been handed which were once grasped with a tight hand now felt much nicer as he opened his right hand to peek at the money.
The silver coins bearing the likeness of King Henry instantly caused Charles to stare at the portrait. His mind, overgrown with fear and despair, now turned towards a daydream. Charles could see himself, dressed in royal garb, accepting gifts and favors from the court, enjoying what he had never had in his life- a soft bed, good meals, respect, and people that listened to him rather than ignore him and silence him. The dream was shattered with the loud, booming voice of the butcher.
"Boy, what is it that you want? Speak up, or I shall send you off!" Charles, as if some kind of overwhelming force had taken over his body, began to scream. "Non, Monsieur! No more!", he strained to yell out as he fled the scene of his embarassment, thinking over and over in his mind what he should really do with the money he had been given.
It was time for Petit-Charles to grow up, and as he thought about mid-run what he was going to do, there could only be one place he could go to rid himself of the nightmares he faced- the harbor. A boat, a ship, anything to dull the pain and to run away- away from a life that brought his nothing but abject misery. It wasn't long before his dust filled eyes caught a glimpse of something magical- the mizzen mast of the largest ship Charles had ever laid eyes on before. Something nagging at him told him to set his course for that mast, and he did, running as fast as possible in his long-worn shoes.
~~ End of I. To Come: Chapter II: Fortune Comes at a Price ~~
