alegria (1b/?)
anonymous
June 26 2010, 03:22:35 UTC
“But still…” Antonio wheedles, biting his lower lip a bit, and Francis looks away before Antonio can use those big, green eyes to his advantage.
“Agreed,” Gilbert cuts in, “because arguing over titles means we’re ignoring the real issue. You know, the fact that we’re here on a mission that doesn’t involve demons and witchcraft and -”
Francis feels his spine straighten and his lips press together as he takes two wide steps and ends up in front of Gilbert. “I have not forgotten what I came here to do,” he says, his voice quiet but still fierce and strong. “But this gives us a perfect cover for our investigation, if nothing else.”
Gilbert narrows his eyes, taking another step towards Francis. “Does it, now,” he murmurs, matching Francis’s tone perfectly. “Do you mean that we’re going to do all the work while you just -”
“Hey! Are you coming?”
Francis blinks, looking over his shoulder the guard Lord Oranbega had given them, taking in the crossed arms and puffed cheeks, the little curl of hair that wouldn’t stay down with the rest. “You’re names Lovino, right?” Antonio laughs, walking ahead of them, a grin plastered all over his face. “You’re cute when you yell!”
“Sh-shut up! I am not!”
“Ahaha, you’re blushing~! Let me guess, you’re new at this, right?”
“Shut up! I can still kick your ass in a fight any day!”
Francis sighs, turning and walking down the path. “Something is wrong with this town,” Francis says, “and I intend to find out why, starting here and now.”
Gilbert snorts and lets Francis lead the way down a green pasture with grass and wildflowers, a place that feels even lonelier than the rest of this land with each step they take towards the tower and its gray stones held together by mortar and craftsmanship. Francis follows its path up the tower to its peaked roof, feeling a little small in its shadow.
His eyes trail down to where Lovino talks to a few servants, nodding and murmuring with them and sending glares at Antonio over his shoulder. But they break away as Lovino walks over to Francis and thrusts out his arm. Francis blinks at the jingling, clanging keys dangling in front of his face.
“Here are your keys,” Lovino says.
“That many? For what?” Gilbert asks, and Francis feels his own eyebrows rising in agreement.
“How should I know? I’ve never been in there - I’m just following instructions. Speaking of which, you’re the only one allowed in,” Lovino says, turning to Francis with a curt nod. “Your guards can stay with ours in the barracks, but -”
“What?” Gilbert asks. “Um, we’re kind of sworn to protect him.”
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t go in.”
“The hell we can’t!”
Francis watches Lovino’s hand move towards the hilt of his sword. “You can either come back with me, or we can do this the hard way.”
“Fine, bring it, you son of a -”
“Wait a minute, Gilbert,” Antonio says, and Francis lets out a breath as his old friend steps forward, all smiles and big green eyes. “Lovino, what if you came with us?”
Lovino’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “I’m not supposed to -”
“Let anyone in the tower? I know.” Antonio reaches out, but stops and drops his hand when Lovino glares and reaches for his sword. “But think about it! If we don’t do anything, you won’t have anything to report to your Lord, and if we try anything sneaky, you’ll be a hero.”
Lovino’s steel-hard gaze didn’t soften, so Antonio pushed a bit more. “You’re still new at this, right? Imagine how proud your Lord would be, showing initiative in -”
“Fine!” Lovino snaps, turning his face away as it grows red. “Fine! But I’m keeping my eye on you, bastard! Don’t try anything funny!”
“Aawww, you’re blushing again! It’s okay, you’ll get used to this. I did!”
“Shut up!”
Francis blinks as Antonio smiles and Lovino’s hand twitches near his sword hilt. “Um, I think we should get going,” Gilbert says, loud and clear enough to save Antonio from certain beheading.
alegria (1c/?)
anonymous
June 26 2010, 03:23:45 UTC
The only thing that gives him pause is Gilbert’s eyes on the back of his neck; they burn the fine hairs on his nape, setting him on edge and making him all too aware of the letter tucked away inside his breast. He thinks of his father’s handwriting, with words as elegant and crisp as the ink used to write them.
He presses his lips together, takes another deep breath, and starts off towards the tower, Antonio’s laughter buzzing in his ears. ___
Francis waits a few moments for his vision to clear after he locks the tower door behind him, but even that moment doesn’t dispel his quickening, uneasy breaths.
The sounds and noises from the outside world die like a candle blown out; he can hear the others breathe, quick little movements of sound. Though there’s a torch to take up the stairs, the darkness seems to press against the light, looking for a place to ooze in. The walls press in on him with their colorless, hard walls.
And even that doesn’t have Francis on edge so much as the thick silence that makes it hard to breathe.
There’s no screeching or screaming, not even broken-glass sobs to greet him. Just silence. And perhaps the scurry of mice feet beneath that, if he listens close enough.
“Nice décor,” Gilbert jokes, but his laughter dies after two short, forced barks, and no one tries to revive it.
Francis swallows and takes the torch in hand. Steeling himself, he walks up the stairs, their boots the only sound in the stagnant air. The silence persists, pressing against him and slithering over and into his skin. Someone shudders out a breath behind him; another whimpers, just a little.
He tries to tell himself that it’s the curse as he walks up the last few steps and into the room at the top of the tower. He holds out his torch, squinting, to see what’s ahead.
There is a single square of light that lands right in the middle of the stone floor. It helps his torch make out the rest of this room, helps him see the bed in the corner and the bookshelf right underneath the window. He takes two steps in, letting the others spread out behind him.
He wonders why the mattress looks so lumpy. Another step forward, and he realizes that the lumps are a human body, with chains around her wrists and a white, see-through nightgown on her body.
Another step, and his stomach reacts so violently that he almost stumbles back down the stairs again.
“What the fuck,” Gilbert says, his voice blending with a choked gag.
Francis can’t move as he realizes that this deadly silence comes from those glassy doll-eyes and that pale face framed by shining, combed hair. It comes from painted lips and pale, sickly skin. It comes from the resigned stillness in that body, surrendering itself to its fate.
And it’s the way she turns her head and looks him straight in the eye with her own, letting him see dried tear-tracks on her cheeks.
Francis feels his entire body go numb when he realizes he’s staring into a curse he recognizes, a curse crafted and cast by human hands, a curse his leaden tongue won’t name. ____
Notes:
- Oranbega and Sanguenay are based off of the mythical lands of Estosiland and Sanguenay. Oranbega, according to the explorer Girolamo da Verrazzano, was a high-seated land with inhabitants who worshiped the sun. Sanguenay, on the other hand, was a fictional land somewhere in Canada. The Iroquois told explorers that Sanguenay was a place where blond men traded furs and gold. It’s understood today to be entirely fictional, thanks to either a misunderstanding or the Iroquois tricking the French, but the namesake survives in several places in Canada, including a city and a river.
I’m still kind of developing the world they live in, though I do know that several will have other mythical names.
I’m thinking that this story will be updated weekly. So stay tuned, and if you decided to give this a chance, thank you.
Re: alegria (1c/?)
anonymous
June 26 2010, 04:47:47 UTC
This is so disturbing, the scene you've set. This is the guard's first time seeing what's been going on, right? Oh, Gods. I hope they unlock her (I'm guessing that's what all the keys are for) and offer her a coat or something before they start freaking out. That can come after.
ReCaptcha: massacare to; yes, I hope the father IS. Bloodily.
OP is thrilled
anonymous
June 26 2010, 14:20:51 UTC
THE DETAILS, Oh, WOW. I never expected her to run out of fight but her resignation is just that much worse and WOW. I love observant!Crafty!Francis. And.... *GLEE* This was AMAZING.
Re: alegria (1c/?)
anonymous
June 28 2010, 05:17:38 UTC
*squeaks* Oh dear. Oh dear GODS.... My heart is rather broken right now. I demand the kings blood, NOW. *goes on mother bear rampage*
The... the way you described her at the end utterly broke my heart and destroyed my soul. Something about the WAY you described her was so VIVID. I am going to be seeing that in my mind for quite a while now, I think.
...I just want to go in there and hug her and never let go, eh?
READER ANON WISHES TO SHARE A CONVO ABOUT THIS EPIC FIC
anonymous
June 28 2010, 05:35:39 UTC
So, yeah, I shared this with a friend, and after talking about how heart-rending your descriptions of Alice were... we, uh, started talking about what we'd like to see happen to her dad. An excert from the convo follows:
VT!ANON: I hope Mattie had been, like, forced to to become a knight and was off stuck in that process for years, only know to return, a full fledged Knight of BADASS SEETHING RAGE at his dad, cooling planning that abusive bastards death. Canadianon: THAT WOULD MAKE ME HAPPY. Canadianon: VERY, VERY HAPPY Canadianon: dear god, the things I want to do to that man are at least six different kinds of prohibited by the geneva convention. >.>;;; OH WELL. VT!ANON: LET'S SET HIM ON FIRE Canadianon: THAT'S FAR TOO FAST Canadianon: I confess to an extensive knowledge of midevil torture methods, and am sifting through them looking for the slowest, most painful ones I can find Canadianon: and making up a few of my own
“Agreed,” Gilbert cuts in, “because arguing over titles means we’re ignoring the real issue. You know, the fact that we’re here on a mission that doesn’t involve demons and witchcraft and -”
Francis feels his spine straighten and his lips press together as he takes two wide steps and ends up in front of Gilbert. “I have not forgotten what I came here to do,” he says, his voice quiet but still fierce and strong. “But this gives us a perfect cover for our investigation, if nothing else.”
Gilbert narrows his eyes, taking another step towards Francis. “Does it, now,” he murmurs, matching Francis’s tone perfectly. “Do you mean that we’re going to do all the work while you just -”
“Hey! Are you coming?”
Francis blinks, looking over his shoulder the guard Lord Oranbega had given them, taking in the crossed arms and puffed cheeks, the little curl of hair that wouldn’t stay down with the rest. “You’re names Lovino, right?” Antonio laughs, walking ahead of them, a grin plastered all over his face. “You’re cute when you yell!”
“Sh-shut up! I am not!”
“Ahaha, you’re blushing~! Let me guess, you’re new at this, right?”
“Shut up! I can still kick your ass in a fight any day!”
Francis sighs, turning and walking down the path. “Something is wrong with this town,” Francis says, “and I intend to find out why, starting here and now.”
Gilbert snorts and lets Francis lead the way down a green pasture with grass and wildflowers, a place that feels even lonelier than the rest of this land with each step they take towards the tower and its gray stones held together by mortar and craftsmanship. Francis follows its path up the tower to its peaked roof, feeling a little small in its shadow.
His eyes trail down to where Lovino talks to a few servants, nodding and murmuring with them and sending glares at Antonio over his shoulder. But they break away as Lovino walks over to Francis and thrusts out his arm. Francis blinks at the jingling, clanging keys dangling in front of his face.
“Here are your keys,” Lovino says.
“That many? For what?” Gilbert asks, and Francis feels his own eyebrows rising in agreement.
“How should I know? I’ve never been in there - I’m just following instructions. Speaking of which, you’re the only one allowed in,” Lovino says, turning to Francis with a curt nod. “Your guards can stay with ours in the barracks, but -”
“What?” Gilbert asks. “Um, we’re kind of sworn to protect him.”
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t go in.”
“The hell we can’t!”
Francis watches Lovino’s hand move towards the hilt of his sword. “You can either come back with me, or we can do this the hard way.”
“Fine, bring it, you son of a -”
“Wait a minute, Gilbert,” Antonio says, and Francis lets out a breath as his old friend steps forward, all smiles and big green eyes. “Lovino, what if you came with us?”
Lovino’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “I’m not supposed to -”
“Let anyone in the tower? I know.” Antonio reaches out, but stops and drops his hand when Lovino glares and reaches for his sword. “But think about it! If we don’t do anything, you won’t have anything to report to your Lord, and if we try anything sneaky, you’ll be a hero.”
Lovino’s steel-hard gaze didn’t soften, so Antonio pushed a bit more. “You’re still new at this, right? Imagine how proud your Lord would be, showing initiative in -”
“Fine!” Lovino snaps, turning his face away as it grows red. “Fine! But I’m keeping my eye on you, bastard! Don’t try anything funny!”
“Aawww, you’re blushing again! It’s okay, you’ll get used to this. I did!”
“Shut up!”
Francis blinks as Antonio smiles and Lovino’s hand twitches near his sword hilt. “Um, I think we should get going,” Gilbert says, loud and clear enough to save Antonio from certain beheading.
“Right,” Francis says, straightening his back.
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He presses his lips together, takes another deep breath, and starts off towards the tower, Antonio’s laughter buzzing in his ears.
___
Francis waits a few moments for his vision to clear after he locks the tower door behind him, but even that moment doesn’t dispel his quickening, uneasy breaths.
The sounds and noises from the outside world die like a candle blown out; he can hear the others breathe, quick little movements of sound. Though there’s a torch to take up the stairs, the darkness seems to press against the light, looking for a place to ooze in. The walls press in on him with their colorless, hard walls.
And even that doesn’t have Francis on edge so much as the thick silence that makes it hard to breathe.
There’s no screeching or screaming, not even broken-glass sobs to greet him. Just silence. And perhaps the scurry of mice feet beneath that, if he listens close enough.
“Nice décor,” Gilbert jokes, but his laughter dies after two short, forced barks, and no one tries to revive it.
Francis swallows and takes the torch in hand. Steeling himself, he walks up the stairs, their boots the only sound in the stagnant air. The silence persists, pressing against him and slithering over and into his skin. Someone shudders out a breath behind him; another whimpers, just a little.
He tries to tell himself that it’s the curse as he walks up the last few steps and into the room at the top of the tower. He holds out his torch, squinting, to see what’s ahead.
There is a single square of light that lands right in the middle of the stone floor. It helps his torch make out the rest of this room, helps him see the bed in the corner and the bookshelf right underneath the window. He takes two steps in, letting the others spread out behind him.
He wonders why the mattress looks so lumpy. Another step forward, and he realizes that the lumps are a human body, with chains around her wrists and a white, see-through nightgown on her body.
Another step, and his stomach reacts so violently that he almost stumbles back down the stairs again.
“What the fuck,” Gilbert says, his voice blending with a choked gag.
Francis can’t move as he realizes that this deadly silence comes from those glassy doll-eyes and that pale face framed by shining, combed hair. It comes from painted lips and pale, sickly skin. It comes from the resigned stillness in that body, surrendering itself to its fate.
And it’s the way she turns her head and looks him straight in the eye with her own, letting him see dried tear-tracks on her cheeks.
Francis feels his entire body go numb when he realizes he’s staring into a curse he recognizes, a curse crafted and cast by human hands, a curse his leaden tongue won’t name.
____
Notes:
- Oranbega and Sanguenay are based off of the mythical lands of Estosiland and Sanguenay. Oranbega, according to the explorer Girolamo da Verrazzano, was a high-seated land with inhabitants who worshiped the sun. Sanguenay, on the other hand, was a fictional land somewhere in Canada. The Iroquois told explorers that Sanguenay was a place where blond men traded furs and gold. It’s understood today to be entirely fictional, thanks to either a misunderstanding or the Iroquois tricking the French, but the namesake survives in several places in Canada, including a city and a river.
I’m still kind of developing the world they live in, though I do know that several will have other mythical names.
I’m thinking that this story will be updated weekly. So stay tuned, and if you decided to give this a chance, thank you.
Reply
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ReCaptcha: massacare to; yes, I hope the father IS. Bloodily.
Reply
I can't wait for more!
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Can't wait to see where this heads next.
Reply
The... the way you described her at the end utterly broke my heart and destroyed my soul. Something about the WAY you described her was so VIVID. I am going to be seeing that in my mind for quite a while now, I think.
...I just want to go in there and hug her and never let go, eh?
Reply
captcha: we're brittle. ._________. O MAI. That's... increadibly fitting and creepy. And grammatically correct, lol.
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VT!ANON: I hope Mattie had been, like, forced to to become a knight and was off stuck in that process for years, only know to return, a full fledged Knight of BADASS SEETHING RAGE at his dad, cooling planning that abusive bastards death.
Canadianon: THAT WOULD MAKE ME HAPPY.
Canadianon: VERY, VERY HAPPY
Canadianon: dear god, the things I want to do to that man are at least six different kinds of prohibited by the geneva convention. >.>;;; OH WELL.
VT!ANON: LET'S SET HIM ON FIRE
Canadianon: THAT'S FAR TOO FAST
Canadianon: I confess to an extensive knowledge of midevil torture methods, and am sifting through them looking for the slowest, most painful ones I can find
Canadianon: and making up a few of my own
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