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Minifill Ahoy: Why Arthur Kirkland Detests Forty Minute Wars
(Anonymous) 2013-01-20 06:19 am (UTC)(link)Arthur Kirkland jerked awake at six in the morning with a tremendous headache, a fuzzy tongue, and the pull of a battle in his gut. He quickly battered his brain into remembering just where it was supposed to be- Zanzibar Town, not entirely unexpected considering how tense things had been getting. Unfortunately, he inadvertently cudgeled his mind into also noting that it was six in the bleeding morning, he had an awful hangover (the warpath usually led through drink), and he had to be present at a naval battle in five minutes when he was wearing floral nightclothes.
He could not appear on the HMS St George in floral pajamas, even if they were rose-patterned. Unshaven, yes, hungover, yes, hungry, yes, but the pajamas had to go. Which led to the next dilemma: how in hell was Arthur going to change into his full naval uniform in five minutes?
The Englishman sprinted to his wardrobe, digging through it until he located his commodore's jacket- if he buttoned it well, he could hide most of the flower-print pits. Trousers were ferreted out of their hiding place beneath the winter scarves and pulled on, hair was yanked into something resembling order, eyebrows were declared a lost cause and left in their natural, caterpillar-like state, and-
Well. It appeared the bombardment had decided to start without him. Arthur took a step and oh God damn it he'd forgotten shoes and the deck was hot, and the ship he was on wasn't bombarding anything but it was loud and not doing wonders for his head.
Finally managing to locate Rear-Admiral Rawson, Arthur grumbled "What the hell's going on?"
"We are shelling Khalid's palace, Commodore Kirkland. He should surrender within the hour."
"Right. Good, sir. Do you think we could perhaps shell quietly- oh sweet Jesus are they really attacking us with that?"
Rawson shrugged mildly. "The Glasgow's a decent ship."
"Was a decent ship, sir. Ten years ago." Arthur squinted at the frigate. "Oh Lord, and we gave them that Gatling gun. Terribly ungrateful."
"Commodore Kirkland, this may seem like an odd question at this point in time..."
"Yes, sir?"
Rawson gave Arthur an odd look. "Why are you wearing a flowery shirt?"
Bugger.
... It's short but I saw it and had to write. Hope you liked it!
(all information is from wikipedia please don't kill me)
He could not appear on the HMS St George in floral pajamas, even if they were rose-patterned. Unshaven, yes, hungover, yes, hungry, yes, but the pajamas had to go. Which led to the next dilemma: how in hell was Arthur going to change into his full naval uniform in five minutes?
The Englishman sprinted to his wardrobe, digging through it until he located his commodore's jacket- if he buttoned it well, he could hide most of the flower-print pits. Trousers were ferreted out of their hiding place beneath the winter scarves and pulled on, hair was yanked into something resembling order, eyebrows were declared a lost cause and left in their natural, caterpillar-like state, and-
Well. It appeared the bombardment had decided to start without him. Arthur took a step and oh God damn it he'd forgotten shoes and the deck was hot, and the ship he was on wasn't bombarding anything but it was loud and not doing wonders for his head.
Finally managing to locate Rear-Admiral Rawson, Arthur grumbled "What the hell's going on?"
"We are shelling Khalid's palace, Commodore Kirkland. He should surrender within the hour."
"Right. Good, sir. Do you think we could perhaps shell quietly- oh sweet Jesus are they really attacking us with that?"
Rawson shrugged mildly. "The Glasgow's a decent ship."
"Was a decent ship, sir. Ten years ago." Arthur squinted at the frigate. "Oh Lord, and we gave them that Gatling gun. Terribly ungrateful."
"Commodore Kirkland, this may seem like an odd question at this point in time..."
"Yes, sir?"
Rawson gave Arthur an odd look. "Why are you wearing a flowery shirt?"
Bugger.
... It's short but I saw it and had to write. Hope you liked it!
(all information is from wikipedia please don't kill me)
Re: Minifill Ahoy: Why Arthur Kirkland Detests Forty Minute Wars
(Anonymous) 2013-01-20 06:41 am (UTC)(link)PFFFF
Arthur Kirkland Goes To War In His Jammies
Arthur Kirkland Goes To War In His Jammies
Hah, I thought it might be you. Kudos for doing them so convincingly, whether fluffy or serious!
This was very restful, nice to read after all the other fics full of such terrible things.
Re: AsaKiku, other characters: Princess Bride crossover / AU
(Anonymous) 2013-01-20 07:05 am (UTC)(link)(OP) Oh my goodness, that would be the cutest thing in the whole world! I'm probably never going to shake that image, either, and y'know what? I'm okay with that. <3
Anon, I think I've fallen in love already. This is a fantastic start. I was surprised to see your approach, mafia, but I do love it. I'm very intrigued to see what happens next. Don't forget to sleep because of me, anon. I'm a patient girl, I can wait :)
That was really lovely, A!A. Quiet and understated, but filled with emotion-- absolutely perfect.
Seconded, especially if Alfred is the upset one.
Hehehee ... this is so cool. I see you've chosen to at least hint a little bit the triangles I wrote down in my request. Nice, really nice. The scene between Monaco and Cuba was so cute. They would make a cute couple I think but Cuba is taken ... I wonder by who...
Aaw, don't apologize for the commercials. They are nicely done and crack me up. And of course if you're watching soap operas or anything else on tv, you have to endure them until they drive you insane. Just like you said ...
Aaw, don't apologize for the commercials. They are nicely done and crack me up. And of course if you're watching soap operas or anything else on tv, you have to endure them until they drive you insane. Just like you said ...
Very pleasant, calming read. I liked the attention you paid to the small details of the hand and the process of removing the glove.
Charming work.
Charming work.
Small huffs, puffs, little whispered words escape from Alice as she walked in a brisk circle around the island in the kitchen. She threw her hands up, clenched them close, continued to murmur, words that didn’t have any connection except to her. ‘It’s stupid… no biting, no biting… agh… no, just stop, just stop, stupid… but it all sucks…’
It was late at night; midnight, to be precise. School was tomorrow, and she should be in bed, homework done and lying in wait to wake up rosy-cheeked and prepared for school.
They refused to let her sleep. There was no ‘they,’ in the sense that there were no names, no faces, no general shapes attached to the feeling; however, the paranoid thought that they were watching, they were going to touch her, leave their bad feelings on her while she slept… She couldn’t shake it, for yet another night.
The floor creaked continually under her bare feet, as her nightgown swished around her calves. The hall light came on, as the door down near the end of it whined open.
“Alice? Alice, mon ange, what’s wrong?” Francis would like to say this was the first night he’d found her obsessively pacing, but it was far from the truth. He and Alfred were at their wits’ end with Alice, and as he came to stand in the kitchen, she seemed to ignore him.
‘Just go away… I hate it, I hate it… urgh…’ Alice’s fists clenched tightly, but she continued to walk.
“Alice, sweetheart, talk to me. What’s the matter?” Francis tried to get through to her, knowing by now the words weren’t meant for him. She just whispered obsessively, talking to some unknown force.
It was a little terrifying, to see his normal, darling, smart daughter so undone. And there seemed to be nothing he could do. “Alice, why don’t we have some tea, sit down, and watch a movie?”
“I can’t, I can’t…” Alice murmured, hands fisting in her nightgown. Her legs felt as though there was no force that could stop them, like if they kept moving, she could leave the mysterious ‘they’ behind.
The hallway floor creaked as Alfred came down, a sight less awake than Francis. “Alice, stop. Stop walking, now.” His face was creased with sleep, and he seemed to have a scowl hanging on his lips.
But she couldn’t, and she endeavored to explain, “Dad, they’re just, they’re watching me, I can’t, I don’t want-“
“Alice, this is ridiculous. This is the sixth night in a row you’ve done this. Stop right now.” Alfred groused, crossing his arms and staring sternly at his fourteen-year-old daughter.
Francis felt a pang of guilt; in Alfred’s world, there was no possibility that there could be something wrong mentally with his children. “Alfred, honey, I think she can’t.”
“Of course she can, all she has to do is stop.” Alfred insisted grumpily.
Alice ran her hands through her wild hair, making it stick out at further odd angles. She was still walking. Her lip was quivering, and she seemed to be trying very hard not to make another noise.
Francis wanted to pull her to himself, to just pick her up somehow and hold her like he had when she was a small child; like he had since she was six, and they’d adopted her. “Alfred, I think she needs to see a counselor; we need help with this.”
Alfred positively glared at Francis, snapping, “She does not need a counselor! She just needs to stop acting like this and act like she did before! Alice, you stop this right now, or I will ground you for a month!”
Alice burst into tears, pace seeming to slow, but it continued, albeit with a more jerky gait. “I can’t, Dad, I can’t!”
It had started this way since about a week after high school began. Francis felt heartsick, imploring Alfred, “Stop shouting at her, please, dear. I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose.”
“Alice! You listen to me!” Alfred commanded, not paying attention to Francis at all. When Alice didn’t respond, except to start bawling, he marched over and grabbed her shoulders to stop her from walking.
“Alfred, honey…” Francis didn’t like him manhandling their children. But like so many other things he put up with, he couldn’t find himself actually stopping this one either.
Alice continued to bawl, shaking and stomping her feet in his grip. She couldn’t be still, she could feel them all around her, like a sixth sense alerting her to ghosts!
It was late at night; midnight, to be precise. School was tomorrow, and she should be in bed, homework done and lying in wait to wake up rosy-cheeked and prepared for school.
They refused to let her sleep. There was no ‘they,’ in the sense that there were no names, no faces, no general shapes attached to the feeling; however, the paranoid thought that they were watching, they were going to touch her, leave their bad feelings on her while she slept… She couldn’t shake it, for yet another night.
The floor creaked continually under her bare feet, as her nightgown swished around her calves. The hall light came on, as the door down near the end of it whined open.
“Alice? Alice, mon ange, what’s wrong?” Francis would like to say this was the first night he’d found her obsessively pacing, but it was far from the truth. He and Alfred were at their wits’ end with Alice, and as he came to stand in the kitchen, she seemed to ignore him.
‘Just go away… I hate it, I hate it… urgh…’ Alice’s fists clenched tightly, but she continued to walk.
“Alice, sweetheart, talk to me. What’s the matter?” Francis tried to get through to her, knowing by now the words weren’t meant for him. She just whispered obsessively, talking to some unknown force.
It was a little terrifying, to see his normal, darling, smart daughter so undone. And there seemed to be nothing he could do. “Alice, why don’t we have some tea, sit down, and watch a movie?”
“I can’t, I can’t…” Alice murmured, hands fisting in her nightgown. Her legs felt as though there was no force that could stop them, like if they kept moving, she could leave the mysterious ‘they’ behind.
The hallway floor creaked as Alfred came down, a sight less awake than Francis. “Alice, stop. Stop walking, now.” His face was creased with sleep, and he seemed to have a scowl hanging on his lips.
But she couldn’t, and she endeavored to explain, “Dad, they’re just, they’re watching me, I can’t, I don’t want-“
“Alice, this is ridiculous. This is the sixth night in a row you’ve done this. Stop right now.” Alfred groused, crossing his arms and staring sternly at his fourteen-year-old daughter.
Francis felt a pang of guilt; in Alfred’s world, there was no possibility that there could be something wrong mentally with his children. “Alfred, honey, I think she can’t.”
“Of course she can, all she has to do is stop.” Alfred insisted grumpily.
Alice ran her hands through her wild hair, making it stick out at further odd angles. She was still walking. Her lip was quivering, and she seemed to be trying very hard not to make another noise.
Francis wanted to pull her to himself, to just pick her up somehow and hold her like he had when she was a small child; like he had since she was six, and they’d adopted her. “Alfred, I think she needs to see a counselor; we need help with this.”
Alfred positively glared at Francis, snapping, “She does not need a counselor! She just needs to stop acting like this and act like she did before! Alice, you stop this right now, or I will ground you for a month!”
Alice burst into tears, pace seeming to slow, but it continued, albeit with a more jerky gait. “I can’t, Dad, I can’t!”
It had started this way since about a week after high school began. Francis felt heartsick, imploring Alfred, “Stop shouting at her, please, dear. I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose.”
“Alice! You listen to me!” Alfred commanded, not paying attention to Francis at all. When Alice didn’t respond, except to start bawling, he marched over and grabbed her shoulders to stop her from walking.
“Alfred, honey…” Francis didn’t like him manhandling their children. But like so many other things he put up with, he couldn’t find himself actually stopping this one either.
Alice continued to bawl, shaking and stomping her feet in his grip. She couldn’t be still, she could feel them all around her, like a sixth sense alerting her to ghosts!
“Stop crying!” Alfred bodily moved her into the living room, that clenched jaw scowl on his face. He was a man of a different background than Francis, where people didn’t put up with this sort of nonsense, or else they kept it hidden so well no one even suspected it.
He was a happy man during the day; he laughed, he joked, and he was generally pleasant to be around. But he didn’t like things out of his control, and there was nothing more out of his control right now than Alice.
“Papa? Dad?” Matthew stood in the hallway entrance, watching the proceedings with a kind of awed fear. He was the same age as Alice, but far less dramatic.
“Go back to bed, Matthew,” Francis said, hurrying to catch up to Alfred and Alice.
Gently, but firmly, Alfred had put Alice on the couch, and sat down next to her. “We’re watching TV until you calm down,” he murmured, still seeming at unease with the whole situation.
Alice tried to get up, but Alfred held onto to her shoulder.
Francis sat on the other side of her, taking her into his arms. “It’s all right, mon bébé… It’s all right…”
She sobbed into him, as Alfred turned on the TV to some retro channel that was playing old school Star Trek. He sat with his arms one his thighs, as though ready to catch Alice should she attempt to return to pacing.
“I can’t-! I can’t-!” Alice hiccupped into Francis, and he wished he understood what was going on with her. He wished he could reach into her mind and straighten out all the twisted up thoughts.
“Sh, mon ange, it’s all right…”
They spent the next hour waiting for Alice to calm down. When she finally did, she was docilely led back to her room, and Francis tucked her in. As he came out, he looked at Alfred in the eye.
“We can’t keep doing this. She has to see somebody.”
Alfred scowled, insisting, “She’s fine, she doesn’t need to see a shrink! What’s he going to do besides charge an obscene amount and put her on a bunch of drugs she doesn’t even need?”
Francis frowned back. “Alfred, she needs a therapist. This is really unhealthy. And the way you’re treating it isn’t helping either; I think she might be mentally ill-“
“Don’t say that, she’s not some kook!” Alfred snapped, glaring at Francis as if he’d suggested their daughter was an abomination.
“There’s nothing wrong with being mentally ill, Alfred! It’s people like you putting a stigma on it that make it so hard for some people to get help!” Francis snapped back, face smoldering with anger.
“Well, she’s not mentally ill, and I’m not having her locked away or drugged out just because you think we can’t handle her!” Alfred retorted, fists clenching.
Francis massaged his temple. “No one’s talking about locking her away or drugging her out, Alfred. We’re just talking about her being able to work out her problems with a therapist.”
Alfred huffed, insisting, “They’ll treat her like a freak. Everyone will, her whole life, if she gets diagnosed with something.”
Francis sighed, saying, “Avoiding it doesn’t change the fact that something’s wrong. I know you’re thinking of that Ivan kid. I know kids are cruel; but no one has to know she’s seeing a counselor. It’s not like they put it on her ID card for everyone to see.”
Alfred groaned. Guilt was flooding his features. “I don’t want her to be an outcast… I don’t want her to end up alone.”
“She won’t. That’s why she’s going to counseling, to get better. And she’ll always have us, and Matthew. We’re strong enough to deal with this together.” Francis took Alfred’s hands in his.
Sometimes, their parenting styles opposed. Sometimes, their personalities clashed. But it was moments like these that brought them together, as Alfred sighed, and whispered, “You’re right…”
Francis pecked him on the cheek, and led him back to bed. He would make the appointment in the morning; hopefully, things would work out for the best.
He was a happy man during the day; he laughed, he joked, and he was generally pleasant to be around. But he didn’t like things out of his control, and there was nothing more out of his control right now than Alice.
“Papa? Dad?” Matthew stood in the hallway entrance, watching the proceedings with a kind of awed fear. He was the same age as Alice, but far less dramatic.
“Go back to bed, Matthew,” Francis said, hurrying to catch up to Alfred and Alice.
Gently, but firmly, Alfred had put Alice on the couch, and sat down next to her. “We’re watching TV until you calm down,” he murmured, still seeming at unease with the whole situation.
Alice tried to get up, but Alfred held onto to her shoulder.
Francis sat on the other side of her, taking her into his arms. “It’s all right, mon bébé… It’s all right…”
She sobbed into him, as Alfred turned on the TV to some retro channel that was playing old school Star Trek. He sat with his arms one his thighs, as though ready to catch Alice should she attempt to return to pacing.
“I can’t-! I can’t-!” Alice hiccupped into Francis, and he wished he understood what was going on with her. He wished he could reach into her mind and straighten out all the twisted up thoughts.
“Sh, mon ange, it’s all right…”
They spent the next hour waiting for Alice to calm down. When she finally did, she was docilely led back to her room, and Francis tucked her in. As he came out, he looked at Alfred in the eye.
“We can’t keep doing this. She has to see somebody.”
Alfred scowled, insisting, “She’s fine, she doesn’t need to see a shrink! What’s he going to do besides charge an obscene amount and put her on a bunch of drugs she doesn’t even need?”
Francis frowned back. “Alfred, she needs a therapist. This is really unhealthy. And the way you’re treating it isn’t helping either; I think she might be mentally ill-“
“Don’t say that, she’s not some kook!” Alfred snapped, glaring at Francis as if he’d suggested their daughter was an abomination.
“There’s nothing wrong with being mentally ill, Alfred! It’s people like you putting a stigma on it that make it so hard for some people to get help!” Francis snapped back, face smoldering with anger.
“Well, she’s not mentally ill, and I’m not having her locked away or drugged out just because you think we can’t handle her!” Alfred retorted, fists clenching.
Francis massaged his temple. “No one’s talking about locking her away or drugging her out, Alfred. We’re just talking about her being able to work out her problems with a therapist.”
Alfred huffed, insisting, “They’ll treat her like a freak. Everyone will, her whole life, if she gets diagnosed with something.”
Francis sighed, saying, “Avoiding it doesn’t change the fact that something’s wrong. I know you’re thinking of that Ivan kid. I know kids are cruel; but no one has to know she’s seeing a counselor. It’s not like they put it on her ID card for everyone to see.”
Alfred groaned. Guilt was flooding his features. “I don’t want her to be an outcast… I don’t want her to end up alone.”
“She won’t. That’s why she’s going to counseling, to get better. And she’ll always have us, and Matthew. We’re strong enough to deal with this together.” Francis took Alfred’s hands in his.
Sometimes, their parenting styles opposed. Sometimes, their personalities clashed. But it was moments like these that brought them together, as Alfred sighed, and whispered, “You’re right…”
Francis pecked him on the cheek, and led him back to bed. He would make the appointment in the morning; hopefully, things would work out for the best.
This was absolutely awesome, and I was laughing out loud! You nailed it ;)
Re: General Hetalia Episode 2: Part E (The one up there is D, sorry)
(Anonymous) 2013-01-20 03:54 pm (UTC)(link)Anon here is eagerly waiting for more updates!
America, no! Leave poor Romano alone!!
A!anon, this is awesome. I get feels for everyone involved except America. I can't wait to see the next part!
A!anon, this is awesome. I get feels for everyone involved except America. I can't wait to see the next part!
You had me hooked at Tolkien but then you added dragons?!
This is shaping up to be a fine fill, A!A :D
This is shaping up to be a fine fill, A!A :D
Seconding this SO HARD.
Oh dear. Is fem!England psychic? Alfred's response was very believable.
Immortalia: Story The Second - Lovers Once Upon A Dream (C)
(Anonymous) 2013-01-20 09:22 pm (UTC)(link)The villagers rose with the sun. It was not long before the streets were crowded with people running this way and that, planning for the celebration in honor of Lien.
Natalia paid none of this any mind. She marched determinedly through the mess, scanning the vendor carts that lined the roads.
"What are we looking for?" asked Toris. The crowd seemed to make him skittish, and it was all he could do to keep up with the fortune teller.
"'We' are not looking for anything."
"Then what are you looking for?"
"A merchant selling jewelry." Natalia frowned, still focusing on the carts. "It must be a traveling one. Not a store here."
"You mean like that one?" Toris asked, pointing towards a cart down the street.
It was a rickety thing, so warped and creaky that it was a wonder its owner got it from one town to another in one piece. It was stocked with the most unusual trinkets imaginable - toys, baubles, and of course jewelry.
"How did I miss that?" Natalia muttered. "Fine." She ran towards it, leaving Toris to catch up.
---
The vendor was silent as they approached him. He sat propped against the cart, limp and unmoving. A large, circular hat decorated his head, dipped at an angle that obscured his face. He did not look unlike a large mushroom.
"I suppose we should make sure he isn't dead," Natalia deadpanned, upon seeing how unresponsive the merchant was.
"I'm sure he's not dead," said Toris. "He is likely just sleeping."
"Very nearly right," said the merchant, speaking suddenly. "I was meditating. It is a strenuous activity, which requires complete silence, stillness, and relaxation on my part."
"Then there is little difference between that and sleep," said Natalia, with a sniff.
"Sleep rejuvenates the body. Meditation heals the body and soul. And my soul has been... troubled, as of late."
"How terrible for you," replied Natalia, waving her hand dismissively. "I have questions I need you to answer."
The merchant smiled peacefully. "I will answer all I know, but not right now."
"Excuse me?"
"Trade is my business, my friend. If you wish for information, I must ask for information in exchange."
"In other words, payment in kind," Toris cut in.
Natalia paid none of this any mind. She marched determinedly through the mess, scanning the vendor carts that lined the roads.
"What are we looking for?" asked Toris. The crowd seemed to make him skittish, and it was all he could do to keep up with the fortune teller.
"'We' are not looking for anything."
"Then what are you looking for?"
"A merchant selling jewelry." Natalia frowned, still focusing on the carts. "It must be a traveling one. Not a store here."
"You mean like that one?" Toris asked, pointing towards a cart down the street.
It was a rickety thing, so warped and creaky that it was a wonder its owner got it from one town to another in one piece. It was stocked with the most unusual trinkets imaginable - toys, baubles, and of course jewelry.
"How did I miss that?" Natalia muttered. "Fine." She ran towards it, leaving Toris to catch up.
---
The vendor was silent as they approached him. He sat propped against the cart, limp and unmoving. A large, circular hat decorated his head, dipped at an angle that obscured his face. He did not look unlike a large mushroom.
"I suppose we should make sure he isn't dead," Natalia deadpanned, upon seeing how unresponsive the merchant was.
"I'm sure he's not dead," said Toris. "He is likely just sleeping."
"Very nearly right," said the merchant, speaking suddenly. "I was meditating. It is a strenuous activity, which requires complete silence, stillness, and relaxation on my part."
"Then there is little difference between that and sleep," said Natalia, with a sniff.
"Sleep rejuvenates the body. Meditation heals the body and soul. And my soul has been... troubled, as of late."
"How terrible for you," replied Natalia, waving her hand dismissively. "I have questions I need you to answer."
The merchant smiled peacefully. "I will answer all I know, but not right now."
"Excuse me?"
"Trade is my business, my friend. If you wish for information, I must ask for information in exchange."
"In other words, payment in kind," Toris cut in.
Immortalia: Story The Second - Lovers Once Upon A Dream (D)
(Anonymous) 2013-01-20 09:23 pm (UTC)(link)"Precisely," said the merchant. He turned and looked Natalia up and down. "You are not what I expected a fortune teller to be, however it must be the case -"
"How do you know that?" Natalia snapped. "Who told you I was a fortune teller?"
"Erm, Natalia? He may want payment for that as well," Toris whispered.
"Indeed," said the merchant. He looked pleased that Toris caught on so quickly.
Natalia snorted at this. "What sort of information do you want as payment?"
"Oh! Forgive me for not being clear." The merchant gave a low bow, somehow managing not to lose his balance from the giant hat. "I wish for this young lady to read my fortune, and advise me on a matter that has been troubling me."
"Absolutely not," said Natalia, turning to leave.
Toris caught her by the arm. "Why will you not do it?" he whispered.
Natalia begrudgingly admired his courage, or at least that he was not afraid of dying. Greater men than he did not dare to touch her. "I do not frivolously tell fortunes for anyone who asks," she said, snatching her arm away.
"But he has the information you need!"
"He says he does. For all we know, it's useless."
"But suppose it isn't? Aren't you looking for something very important to you? How is it worse to tell a fortune than to miss a valuable clue?"
He had a point, though she hated to admit it. Scowling, she turned back to the merchant.
"Very well," said Natalia. "If that is what it will take for you to speak, so be it." She took his hand in hers, with more gentleness than she'd shown at any point prior. Her eyes turned slightly glassy as she gazed upon him. "What is it you wish to know?" she whispered.
The merchant began to speak...
"How do you know that?" Natalia snapped. "Who told you I was a fortune teller?"
"Erm, Natalia? He may want payment for that as well," Toris whispered.
"Indeed," said the merchant. He looked pleased that Toris caught on so quickly.
Natalia snorted at this. "What sort of information do you want as payment?"
"Oh! Forgive me for not being clear." The merchant gave a low bow, somehow managing not to lose his balance from the giant hat. "I wish for this young lady to read my fortune, and advise me on a matter that has been troubling me."
"Absolutely not," said Natalia, turning to leave.
Toris caught her by the arm. "Why will you not do it?" he whispered.
Natalia begrudgingly admired his courage, or at least that he was not afraid of dying. Greater men than he did not dare to touch her. "I do not frivolously tell fortunes for anyone who asks," she said, snatching her arm away.
"But he has the information you need!"
"He says he does. For all we know, it's useless."
"But suppose it isn't? Aren't you looking for something very important to you? How is it worse to tell a fortune than to miss a valuable clue?"
He had a point, though she hated to admit it. Scowling, she turned back to the merchant.
"Very well," said Natalia. "If that is what it will take for you to speak, so be it." She took his hand in hers, with more gentleness than she'd shown at any point prior. Her eyes turned slightly glassy as she gazed upon him. "What is it you wish to know?" she whispered.
The merchant began to speak...
That's fine. Auth!Anon is just glad you're enjoying so much! ^_^
Sorry for the slow updates, but more will be coming! I promise! :)
Sorry for the slow updates, but more will be coming! I promise! :)
Dear OP.
I read your request and was sad to see it already filled. Hope you don't mind if eventually I add another fill to this. I came up with three ideas for it so eventually you might have Russia/America, Norway Canada, or Norway/America fill on this because I adore the idea.
I read your request and was sad to see it already filled. Hope you don't mind if eventually I add another fill to this. I came up with three ideas for it so eventually you might have Russia/America, Norway Canada, or Norway/America fill on this because I adore the idea.
I read this and this song came into my head ;_; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FCT6Mu-pOeE (The Script, Six Degrees of Separation)
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