Prompt Post: ROUND SEVEN
ROUND SEVEN IS CLOSED
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<< ROUND SIX | ALL ROUNDS | ROUND EIGHT >>
Rules post.
Posting Guidelines.
Flat view.
Updates Post (WIPs only)
Fills Post (completed Fills only)
damalur's firstclasskink on Delicious.
Volunteers always welcome.
There is a delay on comments appearing when there is a URL in the message body. This is due to an LJ anti-spam ( Read more... )
So, here's the kink: I want Erik nearly freaking out due to a song performed by Edith Piaf on the radio (whether it is "La vie en rose", "Je ne regrette rien" or something else is entirely up to you).
Some of the children might also witness Erik's (near-)breakdown. Maybe one of them loves Edith's voice and wanted all of them to listen to her (but Erik didn't know about this or else he would have left the room right away). Or maybe Erik did not even know that listening to Edith Piaf would trigger those memories.
And now the main-course: I'd like to see Charles comforting Erik. Telepathically, physically or just with soothing words. (You're, of course, welcome to write about all three of these options!)
Come on, I know you want to see this prompt filled as much as I do! Thanx <3
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"You squares wouldn't know real music if it hit you in the face," Angel scoffed. She narrowed her eyes at the boys, but her smile was fond, and she let it quirk up at the corners when she glanced over at Raven.
"What would you know about music?" Sean asked, just as loftily--maybe more. He was clutching a record to his chest, and trying to hold his chin up defiantly, even though he was pretty sure he was going to lose.
"Angel knows tons about music," Raven said earnestly, encouragingly, eyes wide as she nodded, "She used to work with it all the time."
Angel slapped at her arm in mock outrage, with an exaggerated gasp, so Raven pushed her shoulder against her, the gentlest of shoves. They dissolved into whispers and giggles, turning towards each other, grinning and then communicating entirely in raised eyebrows. Angel's hand was at Raven's elbow, holding her close.
Hank and Sean looked confused. Alex looked on with sudden interest.
Eventually the girls stopped--it was as if they suddenly remembered the battle at hand--and Angel looked over her shoulder at the boys.
"Daddy was a jazz musician and mama was a lounge singer," she said. "I know all about real music."
She got up, with easy, feline grace (that Alex appreciated; Hank was oblivious to; Raven coveted and wondered at) and confidently swaying hips, and went to flip through the record collection.
"But--" Sean tried.
"Shhh," Raven said, "It's fine to be wrong sometimes."
"I--"
"Let her be, man," Alex advised, "She might dance to it."
Hank made a soft choking sound at the same time Angel said, distractedly,
"Raven, be a love and throw something at him for me, would you?" Before any throwing of anything could occur, Angel straighted up triumphantly and held up a single.
"What'd you find?" Alex asked idly, not feeling in the least bit threatened.
"La Vie en rose," Angel sighed, going to the player and flipping the needle up before sliding the record free of its sleeve. "Edith Piaf's a goddess."
The record started spinning--
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Erik was prowling the mansion halls, less restless than usual but still checking the windows, walking the layout, glancing outside and then having to bite the inside of his cheek. They're so vulnerable here, just Charles and a handful of children, in this huge an unfortified house. The only advantage they have is that Charles should sense any intruders--
And Charles. He's probably off reading somewhere, but Erik very deliberately has not gone by the library. He is not looking for Charles. He is certainly not going to go find Charles, that would be...strange. In any case, he should probably check in on the children, if only to make sure they hadn't broken anything important, and because they were in one of the rooms ahead, anyway.
Moving quietly, Erik went to the door and pushed it open without a touch, then stepped into the room.
He froze.
Dimly, he registered that, yes, the children were in the room. They even appeared to be fine.
Des nuits d’amour à plus finir...
Raven and Angel were entwined in each other's arms, slow dancing in a way that might be a parody of the real thing or might not be. Angel was humming softly under her breath, but that is not what Erik sees, hears.
Erik blinks--
The room Erik is in, several degrees cooler and carefully sterile, is filled with metal things he can feel but not move, not right now. The humming he hears is lower, deeper, startling for how perfectly, how happily on pitch it is. It comes from above Erik and slightly to the left, and herr doktor is wearing gloves covered in blood. Erik smells it in the air; tastes it. Something about it calls to him, either the iron or the fact that it's his own life fluid. He wants to panic (there's so much blood, so much, and he's still new to this and herr doktor promises, always, that if he's quiet, it will hurt less), wants to bolt, but his chest is rising and falling too fast for him to breathe and the scalpel cuts deeper each time, moremoremore blood, more.
"Les ennuis, les chagrins s’effacent," herr doktor sings, a small smile on his lips, unbothered by Erik's hyperventilating.
He puts down the scalpel on an already bloody tray, and picks up a small drill.
"Heureux, heureux à en mourir..."
--and then Erik steps back out of the room.
By the time the children wrench the door back open, Erik has already torn down the hallway and made it out the door.
None of them can find him.
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And then flopped back on the bed.
It was nothing, probably.
Ten minutes later he'd shrugged back into a cardigan and was passing through the halls, until he found the room the children still hide in. He poked his head through; confirmed that everyone was skittish and silent, sitting far too nicely with hands quietly in their laps. The entire room radiated confused guilt, and Edith Piaf was still singing softly in the background, over crackles and pops.
"Oh," he sighed, "Blast."
"Charles--" Raven started, uncertainly.
"It's fine," he said.
"But--"
"Don't worry about it."
She looked a little guilty; a little relieved by the notion of having Charles take responsibility. Angel just looked guilty, but, to her credit, she spoke softly, hesitently:
"I don't know what..." she paused again, "I can guess..."
Charles pointed at her.
"You," he said, and she froze, "Cigarettes. If you please." He tried for a reassuring smile.
"Um," she said, "but you..."
"Please," Charles said patiently.
Angel tossed a pack over wordlessly. Charles caught it and saluted her with it.
"Much obliged," he said, "Now...carry on."
They looked back at him with wide eyes. Charles bit back a sigh.
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