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Alphonse Moreau Vice Captain
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 Posted: Fri Mar 31, 2006 9:31 pm
This is a journal maintained by Alva Borghild. This one in particular centers upon his dissection and studies on the Norwgian fjord horse "Caligula", number E-1. Its human name will be "Runcible." The very first page of the journal is written in Moreau's handwriting.
Please refrain from writing in this journal unless you are Ms. Borghild or Moreau himself. First impressions - April the 14th, 1889Что horrible женщина! Я не могу верить что я лежался к мимо женщине для того чтобы получить к этому острову. Когда мы соответствовали до ее прибытия, я был уверен что она была человеком должным к мужескому почерку от ее письма. Момент она шагнула с шлюпки, момента, котор я знал шло быть множество проблем. Оно шл дождь что день и мои стекла были fogged вверх, поэтому на сперва I подумал она было человеком, как я всегда имел мысль. Однако, оно стал явноее что это не было случаем. Я закричал на ей для лежать к мне и она ответила довольно insultingly. Этот остров никакие женщины. Она obnoxious и неправильна без чувства образов или знать ее место. Я предназначаю попытаться и измениться это. Я не буду иметь никакие harlots на моем острове, никакие tarts, никакие whores! Если будет женщина на моем острове, то я хочу для ее быть респектабелен и знать место женщины в мире человека. Она носит cropwhip с ей все время и довольно откровенно т disgusts я. Я понимаю использующ его при работе с животными, но с дорогой она постоянно будет прикреплена к ее руке, котор я получаю впечатление что она спит с damned вещью. Она принесла с ей маленькую тучную лошадь с твердолобым temperament. Оно только слушает ее голос внимательно, и я не уверен, котор нужно сделать его пока. Наилучшим образом, кроме стейка. Alphonse Moreau OOC Translation What a horrible woman! I cannot believe that I was lied to by a woman to get to this island. When we had corresponded prior to her arrival, I was certain that she was a man due to the masculine handwriting from her letters. The moment she stepped off the boat, the moment I knew there was going to be a lot of problems. It was raining that day and my glasses were fogged up, so at first I thought she was a man, like I always had thought. However, it became more apparent that this was not the case. I yelled at her for lying to me and she responded quite insultingly.
This island needs no women. She is obnoxious and improper with no sense of manners or knowing her place. I intend to try and change this. I will have no harlots on my island, no tarts, no whores! If there is a woman on my island, I want for her to be respectable and know the woman's place in a man's world. She carries a cropwhip with her at all times and quite frankly that disgusts me. I understand using it when working with animals, but with the way it is permanently attached to her hand I get the impression that she sleeps with the damned thing.
She brought with her a little fat horse with a stubborn temperament. It only heeds her voice, and I am not sure what to make of it yet. Well, aside from steak.
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Posted: Fri Mar 31, 2006 10:17 pm
March 31, 1889.
How does one start these things? I never understood them, but the doctor said it was well-advised to keep a log of things while on the island. I am not on the island yet- still on this nightmarish excuse for a ship- but I figured I would start now and get used to it. The best thing would be to talk about my day, I suppose.
Except nothing happened today, as I am on a boring ship. Well, I did have the great fortune of hearing a new deckhand vomit from seasickness at least a dozen times. I also saw that some of the deckhands had pilfered a platter of this treat called "Nipples of Venus" some time ago, and they offered some to me- probably hoping to get my company in exchange. They were actually very good... I took the liberty of taking the time to enjoy the bit of chocolate on top and letting the sugar melt away before I got to the chestnut in the center. If I am ever offered those again, I shall gladly oblige.
...If the articles I have read are correct, all of those deckhands will die tragically within the month.
That is all that really happened today... maybe I should write about how I got here in the first place. Rather amusing, really... I heard about the "good doctor" Moreau from a man walking out of a pub, raving about how insane the man was. The information I got was probably a bit distorted, but I nonetheless found the idea intriguing.
So I requested the man who runs the horse breeding I work at- well, I am the one who runs it, really. Everyone else is completely incompetent- to write a letter to this Dr. Moreau. I could have written myself, but my own writing is a bit sloppy and, well, womanish. I thought I'd have better chances if he thought a man were to arrive, given the very slanted view of women in Britain. Within the letter were accounts of how I am a bit of a sought-after horse breeder, my skills with animal husbandry, and my willingness to learn anything I might need to know. I also included a request to bring my own subject for the project- probably the best horse I have ever managed to breed. A letter obliging my offer and request came back in a bit less than a month.
As such, here I am on this awful boat.
I have brought three extra dresses- not much, but it's a remote island. If they are to become torn and ragges, let it be so- a coat that is rather cheap, but warm if I shall ever need it, one extra corset, a nightgown, some strips of cloth to make for bandages, a few whips (I don't remember what they're called; all I know is that the one I always keep with me is called a cropwhip), several rags, a pair of scissors, a sewing kit, and a razor (sometimes animals get wounded and you have to remove some hair to fix it).
I suppose it would be for the best to write a little bit about myself, even though this is confidential. It seems rather ridiculous to write to myself about myself, but some people say it's healing.
My name is Alva Borghild. I was born on June 14th of 1853 in Hell, Norway. I've been around horses since I started being able to remember things. I guess I was happy as any other little girl, but I dislike children and thus don't wish to talk extensively about myself as a child. I think that the majority of Europe's view of women as pretty unthinking slaves is irritating and stupid. Although I am good at handling horses and other beasts, I'm not partial to them. Although they are to be respected, they are still just words in the book that is my life.
I must admit that I am no virgin, and no stranger to actions behind closed doors and consequences of those actions. Each time I was given a child, I lost them before they were born: once at age 19, again at 24, and again at 28. I am more than fully capable of carrying a child, so I have determined that each time was either the fault of the man exercising too much control over me, or the man's seed merely being faulty. If I am to ever have children, then, I must find a man who is competent.
That is all I can honestly think of for now. I believe I shall retire for tonight, or at least try to.
The author of my life is most likely a very disturbed and spiteful man.
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Posted: Mon May 08, 2006 2:06 pm
April 20th, 1889.
Oh, how easy it is to forget something so mundane as a journal when there are more interesting things to be had. My dislike of my own handwriting isn't of much help, and I never was one to make a record of my life. Needless to say, many very interesting things have happened since my arrival. I would list them here, but this is a logbook that concerns only my assigned charge.
After several days of training and much frustration and lecturing from that obnoxious man, I have finally managed to bring out at least some complacence in Caligula. He will now actually allow himself to be touched by Alphonse- though, much to my amusement, verbal commands still escape him. I'll have to increase my efforts. It will probably help if I can make myself stop being so amused by the horse's stubbornness. That's a form of approval, and I mustn't show any for unacceptable behavior.
I must wonder, as anyone else would, what this beast will be like when and if it successfully becomes a man. I'd rather him view me more as a mentor than a motherly figure, though if the latter is more effective in training and education, I'll be willing to resign to such a title.
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Posted: Fri Jun 09, 2006 9:56 am
April 29th, 1889.
More people and people-to-be have at last arrived. One that strikes my interest in particular is an odd-looking horse with unending curiosity who, apparently, was given the name Bucephalus. His caretaker is an equally odd man who introduced himself as Barnabas. He seems a decent man who will do well in assisting the beast's progression, and I believe that it will be a very successful one.
Unfortunately, this new presence in the stables proved to be detrimental to Caligula's mood and behavior. He has gone partially back to having trouble letting Alphonse touch him, and it only gets worse when the man lectures us about how surgery will be impossible if he doesn't become more complacent soon and so on and so forth. It seems that I will have to increase my efforts even more, otherwise the man might do something horrible to Caligula out of spite- and I say this being fully aware that you may ask to read this logbook in the future, Alphonse.
I shall put all of my energies toward making this into a successful project. I do not want the effort I had to spend making it to this island end up in vain.
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Posted: Tue Aug 08, 2006 7:00 am
July 24th 1889.
I have neglected this journal for far too long. However, it is not easy to keep regular updates when all of the progress that was made is that Alphonse learned to yell progressively louder and Caligula eventually became quite terrified of the man. It actually made him even more stubborn than he was before.
That is enough of my ink-wasting complaints! I am writing this because there has been progress, not because of the lack of such! Sometimes I fear that Alphonse is right and I am a woman who talks far too much.
I was not prepared for this new development. The stable turned up Caligula as missing, and the damn man failed to give me a note out of immature pettiness. As such I was not prepared for the sight and smell of it all, and may have shown some signs of weakness. At first I thought something had gone horribly wrong with the bear-- but then it was explained that's the color of its skin! I can admit without shame that I found it very interesting.
Caligula's skin was pink as it should be under all of the awful bruises that he was given. "Flogged" is truly a better word than "flayed". There were also other signs of physical progress, his hooves are beginning to form into fingers. He is also seeming to have a very small understanding of what I say beyond his name and simple commands.
The whole thing is nightmarish in appearance, but not all change is pleasant. I have confidence that this transition will be successful.
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Posted: Sun Aug 27, 2006 9:08 am
August 15th, 1889.
It has proven a slight bit difficult to properly care for Caligula as of late, for reasons that I feel are unnecessary to disclose in this journal. Regardless, because of these hindrances I have been forced to turn my visits over to the evenings instead of the early mornings. It could very well prove advantageous. Caligula seems more alert and willing at that time, though it could just be the brain modifications and my not observing him in the mornings that are causing me to draw such conclusions.
Caligula is still unwilling to move his fingers very much. It proved a hindrance at first, but now I have taught him to indicate numbers by tapping the floor. This is much like those stupid little party tricks I have seen people do with horses, and I admit that was partial inspiration. He can also indicate simple shapes by counting the amount of corners in this method-- it was a bit of a relief that his eyes were still working when I took the liberty of removing his blinder bandage.
As of now Caligula cannot seem to grasp numbers above four or five, and on certain days he can only go up to three or less, or not be willing to recognize numbers at all. I am sure that further surgical corrections will help with this, however.
Today I was unable to teach him much, however, due to select presences that inhibited my teaching. I was not aware that the small Spaniard is still being allowed to stay on the island! It was quite an unpleasant shock, and then he was so stupid as to allow the hyena in his care to escape its stable. I also had an encounter with the dog, whose name appears to be "Rowan". She is terribly brash and rude, and was making all sorts of idiotic assumptions about me. Even I think that she is not being a proper woman, let alone a proper human being. Hopefully the doctor will be able to fix this, or I fear that this "Rowan" will be a constant problem.
The hyena's presence in the recovery stable is something that raises my curiosity-- it showed no signs of corrective surgery and had not even been flayed. Perhaps if I run into the Spaniard again and he decides to be more civil, he will be willing to explain why this is. I am also further curious about the progress of the other projects. I shall have to try and visit Caligula around the time someone else visits his charge. Perhaps I will be able to assist others, and learn more teaching techniques myself.
I have been considering trying to use some sort of reward system to further encourage good behavior and willingness to learn. Simply flogging the beast without mercy when it misbehaves will just make it fearful of me and more difficult to teach. That does not mean the transition will be completely without punishment, however. It was a spoiled enough horse, and I will not allow it to become a spoiled man as well.
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