Past-Part Fills Part 7
!!! Discussion about moving the kink meme to Dreamwidth!!!
Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
There’s no other explanation for why their library bookcases would be so damn tall. There is no other logical explanation, anyway, because the bookcases’ top shelves are literally impossible to reach, unless the person trying to reach them happens to be a giant.
Bonnefoy stares despondently up at the distant top ledge, his gaze fixed on one anthology in particular. It’s a collection of children’s stories, made from numerous yellowing pages containing fairy tales and folklore. Not the sort of literature he usually takes interest in, but there is one story in particular within the book that he really wants to read.
The butler can remember young Alfred being offered the hardback in question a few times, and the short story Bonnefoy wants to read is one he remembers reading when he was just a knee-high boy himself. It depressed him greatly at the time; The Steadfast Tin Soldier. It would be nice to read it again, and it’s not like he’s actually going to do any work today; he’s wasted the morning already and he fully intends to waste the afternoon, too.
The Steadfast Tin Soldier tells the story of an enchanted metal figurine, one that falls in love with a ballerina made of paper. They face many trials and tribulations in their romance; the soldier only has one leg, and the pair of them end up being thrown into a gutter at one point, and they are maimed by rats and fish. In the end, the steadfast tin soldier and his ballerina love die in a fire, the soldier melting into the shape of a valentine heart.
Bonnefoy thinks that Arthur, being the sick bastard he is, would have found the story hilariously funny, under different circumstances.
But this is no time to think about Arthur. There is a mountain to climb, Bonnefoy’s very own Everest, and he intends to conquer it like Napoleon conquered Egypt. Hopefully, however, there will be not be a Waterloo anytime soon, because Bonnefoy really wants that book.
He flexes his fingers and tilts his head, preparing himself for climbing. He’s never been fond of heights and climbing - back when he was but a child, growing up in the agricultural regions of Île-de-France, he hated having to climb trees with his friends and often found himself stuck upon various branches, frozen in terror.
It would be unseemly, not to mention mortifying, for him to now end up clinging with fear to a bookcase.
Taking measures to avoid knocking any of the books over, Bonnefoy places one foot on the bottom shelf and hooks his hands onto a shelf above. He begins easing his way up the case’s front, using the shelves like steps, a makeshift staircase leading him straight to his old, dusty prize.
This isn’t so difficult, he muses as he hauls himself further. But he shouldn’t push his luck. Determined, he outstretches his arm and reaches as far as he can, fingertips just brushing against the spine of the fairytale collection. A few millimetres more, and he’ll have the tome in his grasp, and he’ll be able to clamber down again-
It is in this moment precisely that, from somewhere within the manor, someone decides to turn their radio on at full volume.
Waterloo.
Granted, the radio is quickly turned off again, but for all of ten seconds Mozart’s Requiem shakes the house to its rafters. Even though it’s a brief burst of simulated orchestra, it’s still enough to make Bonnefoy cry out and fall down in shock, bringing a great deal of the books with him. He doesn’t know what’s happened until he’s lain on the floor, a sharp pain ringing through his spine, head throbbing from impact.
Reply
Leave a comment