[Fic] One Goatherd and His One-Goat Herd 01
Title: One Goatherd and His One-Goat Herd 01
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters/Pairing: Erik/Charles
Summary: Erik has one goat.
Notes: Princess Tutu Fusion. Sort of. It's not really true to anything, though. Also, I'm really sorry. WIP
So after I saw xmfc, I was looking for fic on delicious and I thought I saw a summary that said, "Erik has one goat". I kind of got really excited (but, um, let's not examine that too closely) before I realised it actually said "Erik has one goal". Lack of goats notwithstanding, I still really enjoyed that fic and would highly recommend it. But there was a goatfic-shaped hole in my heart? Or in my brain.
And then after various things, this happened. And spawned a plot to justify itself, even though I don't really think anything could justify this. ._.
TL;DR: I can't read and I'm really, really sorry.
*
Once upon a time, there was a writer named Schmidt whose tales took life, escaped their pages and assumed their place in the reality around him.
Generals, Dukes and Kings commissioned him to write their stories for them, but, realising the strength of his own power, he soon grew dissatisfied with doing the bidding of others and began writing for himself.
He wrote into existence miraculous things; men who set fields alight with a single look, women who called upon the winds and rain to do their bidding, children born with beaks and feathers.
But the people grew afraid, and so to stop Schmidt from writing his power over their lives, they cut off both his hands.
*
Erik used to live alone. He wouldn’t describe himself as having been lonely, exactly (Totally lonely, Sean insists. He used to spend all his spare time yodelling. Everyone in the town could hear it. Everyone in the next town could hear it, he was so loud.), but he’s at least man enough to admit that he could’ve done with a bit of company from time to time.
And then Charles came.
(He mostly stopped yodelling after that, Sean says. We were really grateful. No, seriously, we were really, really grateful, you have no idea.)
*
The problem with living in a town where the main products are mohair and cashmere, Erik thinks, is that the goats are everywhere.
He swats impatiently at the angora currently latched onto the hem of his shirt, trying to maintain enough concentration to finish twisting fencing wire around the last wooden post while still saving his clothing from being turned into a tasty goat snack. He tries to flick a wrist to snap off the excess wire and fuse the coils around the post together, but finds his movement restricted by another hungry mouth on his sleeve.
Some days, protection from all the cold winds in the world doesn’t seem enough to make living around goats worth it.
(Of course, other days, old Stryker the Nightwatchman leers at him hungrily, and Erik feels that wearing one hundred mohair coats wouldn’t be enough to keep him from feeling violated.)
“Oi, Cassidy!” Erik barks, fast running out of limbs to swat with as another goat apparently decides his scowl is not all that frightening, and that his shirt looks like a nice change from its ordinary diet. “Control your animals!”
“Sorry!” Sean grins from atop one of the fencing posts, looking anything but as he takes his own sweet time to come over and wrestle his beasts away. He sends them back towards the rest of the herd, with a soft, high-pitched screech to give them a gentle wind-borne push in the right direction.
Finally free from goat molestation, Erik finishes the fencing with a wave of a hand and pockets the excess wire.
“Done,” he says to Sean. “Your fence should be fine for keeping your goats in again. That is,” he adds dryly, “until the next time you decide that keeping to the road is for other people and drive your cart right through it.”
“Hey!” Sean protests. “I told you, it was cloudy that night, and so dark I was having trouble seeing own my hands holding the reigns. There were absolutely no strange mushrooms involved,” he says to Erik’s disbelieving expression.
Erik raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, no more than three. Maybe four, whatever,” Sean says, waving airily at him. “Come in for a drink before you go?”
“Not this time,” Erik says, shaking his head. “I should be getting home.”
“To the goat impatiently awaiting your return?” Sean asks wryly.
“Just so,” Erik replies gravely. Sean rolls his eyes and lobs a small bag of coins at him.
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s just pining away. That should be what we agreed on.”
Erik catches it without using his hands, and hefts it in the air. It feels right. He pockets it and nods a goodbye at Sean as he starts up the road to his isolated cottage.
“Thanks! See you in town!” Sean calls after him. Erik raises a hand in acknowledgment and lengthens his stride.
Charles will be wondering where he is, after all.
LJ formatting and I are not friends. =( Really, REALLY not friends. I'm really sorry.