fic: mazurka (manfred von karma; pg)
Guys. This meme is so great. Check it out.
Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays.
You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble
You start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.
1. Numb - Linkin Park
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
Manfred cannot say that he is displeased to see so much of himself in his daughter. The girl is eleven and already well on her way to being worthy of her inheritance.
Hold your head up, he advises, and Franziska is obliged to obey, standing tall and resting a hand on his desk. She begins to recite a passage from Machiavelli, and he nods, steeples his fingers, and is pleased.
Still, hours later he watches her in the garden beyond his window, how she cups a rosebud in her hands and how she smiles, and he realises that he cannot keep her from ineffectual thoughts while outside of his tutelage.
2. You’re My Best Friend - Queen
You're making me live
“Not done for the evening yet?” Manfred looks up to see Gregory Edgeworth at the other end of the bench, grinning. Damn the fool…
Manfred sits up straight, setting his pen down into his lap. “A prosecutor’s work is never done. There is a lamentably endless supply of criminals. Even you know that.”
“Yes,” Gregory admits, “but that is why bars have happy hours. Join me?”
Manfred sighs. He is a proper German and believes that of all the astonishing instances of American ignorance, the most unforgivable must be their affinity for that vile substance they ignorantly label ‘beer.’
3. Nemo - Nightwish
The one without a name, without an honest heart as compass
Manfred scarcely remembers now the face of the first man he convicted, the first he helped send to his death, cannot say he recalls with any sort of clarity many of the defendants’ faces over his forty year career. Then again, he doubts they remember him either, his face eroded by the numbing intervening years between imprisonment and eventual death, his name flickering out of consciousness in the moments before execution.
All that matters is the reputation that stands before him, the fear it inspires in the hearts of the guilty. What comes after in their worthless lives matters accordingly little to him.
4. Gone - *NSYNC
So I'll just hang around and find some things to do
When Manfred’s wife had died he’d adjusted to the title of Widower as seamlessly as he had adjusted to that of Husband. The empty house he grew to appreciate - all the better to focus on his work. For the vacant seat at the table, for the undisturbed half of his bed, he was similarly grateful. It was doubtlessly better for his children not to become softened by useless thoughts and sentiments.
Manfred honestly cannot recall now how his wife came to be dead to him, whether through her body’s inability to care for her any longer or through some irreconcilable difference. Either way, it can hardly matter now.
Her absence is a void he likes to believe he has filled exceedingly well.
5. Get Another Boyfriend - Backstreet Boys
I've seen enough, now this must come to an end
There is only one thing worse than knowing, and that is suspecting.
Manfred has raised a daughter before, is familiar with how girls grow into women, the soft and daft process they undergo. Admittedly he has done better the second time around, but even Franziska has her flaws.
Manfred is used to filling in the blanks, helping the obvious become cemented into fact. How Franziska’s hand finds her brother’s, how he can hear their muted laughter from the other end of the house, their playing.
When his hand comes down across Miles’ face, Manfred does not believe he has ever taken more delight in breaking any other individual. He ignores the books the boy knocks from his desk as he pulls his ward to his feet, feels a wicked joy to tighten his hands around his throat. “You will not touch my daughter, do you understand?”
He releases, brusque, and the teenager staggers away, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth onto his sleeve. He takes shelter in the doorway, terrified to stay but not daring to leave.
Manfred decides for him. “Out,” is his cold decree, and Miles retreats, disappears down the hall, out of sight but wrathfully still in mind.
Fingernails sink into the wooden surface of the desk, the pressure building.
After some seething moments Manfred straightens up, clears his throat.
“Franziska. Come.”
6. Piano sonata no. 14 in c# minor - Ludwig von Beethoven
Manfred does not attend Gregory’s funeral. He reads about it in newspapers, finds it a topic too present in the headlines for his liking and so might as well have attended, for all he knows about it.
In the nights following, however, Manfred hears echoes of a voice forever stilled, perceives recollections of a rivalry now laid to rest. He sees the form before him as he ever was, feels the man’s breath warm over his cheek in the moments before sleep. These, however, are mere memories, simple imaginings of a frazzled mind. This is what he chooses to believe, at least, and Manfred is used to ignoring facts that do not suit his interests.
7. It Has No Name - Jerry Springer the Opera
It has no name, it is a whore
“Guten Morgen, Papa, I called Franziska but she didn’t ans -”
Manfred hangs up the phone, a mechanical motion, a reaction so deep-seated and natural that it hardly requires thought.
You are dead to me, he murmurs to his elder daughter, the prodigal failure, to whom the world is but a glittering bauble in her hand, you are dead to me.
8. Bleed - Evanescence
We all live, we all die, that does not begin to justify you
There are times Manfred is sure of it, so convinced that his thoughts of his own insanity flee and are replaced by cold certainty.
There is a residual horror in the boy’s eyes, a recollection of terror that Manfred fears one day will be recognised as himself. When he speaks he wonders if the day will come when Miles picks up some familiar intonation, the note that after years he will recognise is specific to the voice of his father’s killer.
For now Manfred answers with patience his charge’s questions regarding Gregory’s death, careful not to scream.
9. The Real Slim Shady - Eminem
And just might be the next best thing but not quite me
Germany - no, the world - has never seen a thirteen year old prosecutor, but Manfred is hardly surprised at Franziska’s accomplishment. She is, after all, his daughter.
“Papa,” she sighs into the evening, the address lilting over the pages of the law textbook before her, “I sometimes fear that I will never be as successful as you are.” Manfred looks up from his own work, taking in the adolescent girl, her thin shoulders, unsure fingers, soft eyes.
“It is doubtful,” Manfred admits, returning his attention to his case, “but you’d best hope for your sake that you are incorrect.”
10. Perfect Enemy - t.A.T.u.
Why should I welcome your domination, why should I listen to explanations
“I know you don’t like me,” Manfred tells the boy, a lanky nine year old with crossed arms who will not, will not, look at him, “but I am your father now, my house, your house, my daughters, your sisters.” The boy wraps his arms more tightly around himself, glaring intently at the wall. Manfred smiles slowly, kneeling before the child. “And in case you were wondering, you needn’t worry. I have been alive a long time and I cannot recall a single earthquake in Germany.”
So that's that. :) My first completed fanfiction in like a year and a half! Yay!
Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays.
You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble
You start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.
1. Numb - Linkin Park
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
Manfred cannot say that he is displeased to see so much of himself in his daughter. The girl is eleven and already well on her way to being worthy of her inheritance.
Hold your head up, he advises, and Franziska is obliged to obey, standing tall and resting a hand on his desk. She begins to recite a passage from Machiavelli, and he nods, steeples his fingers, and is pleased.
Still, hours later he watches her in the garden beyond his window, how she cups a rosebud in her hands and how she smiles, and he realises that he cannot keep her from ineffectual thoughts while outside of his tutelage.
2. You’re My Best Friend - Queen
You're making me live
“Not done for the evening yet?” Manfred looks up to see Gregory Edgeworth at the other end of the bench, grinning. Damn the fool…
Manfred sits up straight, setting his pen down into his lap. “A prosecutor’s work is never done. There is a lamentably endless supply of criminals. Even you know that.”
“Yes,” Gregory admits, “but that is why bars have happy hours. Join me?”
Manfred sighs. He is a proper German and believes that of all the astonishing instances of American ignorance, the most unforgivable must be their affinity for that vile substance they ignorantly label ‘beer.’
3. Nemo - Nightwish
The one without a name, without an honest heart as compass
Manfred scarcely remembers now the face of the first man he convicted, the first he helped send to his death, cannot say he recalls with any sort of clarity many of the defendants’ faces over his forty year career. Then again, he doubts they remember him either, his face eroded by the numbing intervening years between imprisonment and eventual death, his name flickering out of consciousness in the moments before execution.
All that matters is the reputation that stands before him, the fear it inspires in the hearts of the guilty. What comes after in their worthless lives matters accordingly little to him.
4. Gone - *NSYNC
So I'll just hang around and find some things to do
When Manfred’s wife had died he’d adjusted to the title of Widower as seamlessly as he had adjusted to that of Husband. The empty house he grew to appreciate - all the better to focus on his work. For the vacant seat at the table, for the undisturbed half of his bed, he was similarly grateful. It was doubtlessly better for his children not to become softened by useless thoughts and sentiments.
Manfred honestly cannot recall now how his wife came to be dead to him, whether through her body’s inability to care for her any longer or through some irreconcilable difference. Either way, it can hardly matter now.
Her absence is a void he likes to believe he has filled exceedingly well.
5. Get Another Boyfriend - Backstreet Boys
I've seen enough, now this must come to an end
There is only one thing worse than knowing, and that is suspecting.
Manfred has raised a daughter before, is familiar with how girls grow into women, the soft and daft process they undergo. Admittedly he has done better the second time around, but even Franziska has her flaws.
Manfred is used to filling in the blanks, helping the obvious become cemented into fact. How Franziska’s hand finds her brother’s, how he can hear their muted laughter from the other end of the house, their playing.
When his hand comes down across Miles’ face, Manfred does not believe he has ever taken more delight in breaking any other individual. He ignores the books the boy knocks from his desk as he pulls his ward to his feet, feels a wicked joy to tighten his hands around his throat. “You will not touch my daughter, do you understand?”
He releases, brusque, and the teenager staggers away, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth onto his sleeve. He takes shelter in the doorway, terrified to stay but not daring to leave.
Manfred decides for him. “Out,” is his cold decree, and Miles retreats, disappears down the hall, out of sight but wrathfully still in mind.
Fingernails sink into the wooden surface of the desk, the pressure building.
After some seething moments Manfred straightens up, clears his throat.
“Franziska. Come.”
6. Piano sonata no. 14 in c# minor - Ludwig von Beethoven
Manfred does not attend Gregory’s funeral. He reads about it in newspapers, finds it a topic too present in the headlines for his liking and so might as well have attended, for all he knows about it.
In the nights following, however, Manfred hears echoes of a voice forever stilled, perceives recollections of a rivalry now laid to rest. He sees the form before him as he ever was, feels the man’s breath warm over his cheek in the moments before sleep. These, however, are mere memories, simple imaginings of a frazzled mind. This is what he chooses to believe, at least, and Manfred is used to ignoring facts that do not suit his interests.
7. It Has No Name - Jerry Springer the Opera
It has no name, it is a whore
“Guten Morgen, Papa, I called Franziska but she didn’t ans -”
Manfred hangs up the phone, a mechanical motion, a reaction so deep-seated and natural that it hardly requires thought.
You are dead to me, he murmurs to his elder daughter, the prodigal failure, to whom the world is but a glittering bauble in her hand, you are dead to me.
8. Bleed - Evanescence
We all live, we all die, that does not begin to justify you
There are times Manfred is sure of it, so convinced that his thoughts of his own insanity flee and are replaced by cold certainty.
There is a residual horror in the boy’s eyes, a recollection of terror that Manfred fears one day will be recognised as himself. When he speaks he wonders if the day will come when Miles picks up some familiar intonation, the note that after years he will recognise is specific to the voice of his father’s killer.
For now Manfred answers with patience his charge’s questions regarding Gregory’s death, careful not to scream.
9. The Real Slim Shady - Eminem
And just might be the next best thing but not quite me
Germany - no, the world - has never seen a thirteen year old prosecutor, but Manfred is hardly surprised at Franziska’s accomplishment. She is, after all, his daughter.
“Papa,” she sighs into the evening, the address lilting over the pages of the law textbook before her, “I sometimes fear that I will never be as successful as you are.” Manfred looks up from his own work, taking in the adolescent girl, her thin shoulders, unsure fingers, soft eyes.
“It is doubtful,” Manfred admits, returning his attention to his case, “but you’d best hope for your sake that you are incorrect.”
10. Perfect Enemy - t.A.T.u.
Why should I welcome your domination, why should I listen to explanations
“I know you don’t like me,” Manfred tells the boy, a lanky nine year old with crossed arms who will not, will not, look at him, “but I am your father now, my house, your house, my daughters, your sisters.” The boy wraps his arms more tightly around himself, glaring intently at the wall. Manfred smiles slowly, kneeling before the child. “And in case you were wondering, you needn’t worry. I have been alive a long time and I cannot recall a single earthquake in Germany.”
So that's that. :) My first completed fanfiction in like a year and a half! Yay!