Past-Part Fills Part 7
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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... )
For those of you who don't speak Aussie (this includes me):
Swagman - drifter
jumbuck - sheep
Trooper - police
Also Jake = Australia and Taylor = New Zealand.
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Jake was a simple man with simple pleasures. He wandered through the outback doing whatever he felt he needed to. When he got hungry he ate, when he got tired he slept, when he had to take a piss he took a piss, and he didn’t let anyone stop him.
Today Jake was sitting down by the river, resting after a full day of waking away from one town and towards what he hoped was another, mostly because towns had food and water and places to sleep more comfortable than rocks rather than any need for social interaction. As long as he followed the river though, he’d have plenty of water and plenty of food.
Speaking of food, Jake was getting hungry. No sooner than he thought that did he hear a soft baa and spot an approaching sheep. Small, but fluffy and it certainly had meat on its bones, even if it was only enough for one or two meals. Push came to shove he might be able to get a decent price off of the wool.
Jake quickly grabbed his empty bag and snuck up behind the sheep as it dipped its head into the river. His footsteps barely touched the ground, making only the slightest of sounds. Before the sheep knew what hit it, Jake had already scooped it up in his bag and was on his way.
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“Tonga?” Taylor looked around for the lost sheep. Tonga was a good sheep, he just liked to wander a bit. That wasn’t too bad considering some of the other things the other sheep got up too, but it made him awfully hard to take places, which is a shame because he needs to eat and drink like everything else.
“Tonga!” Taylor called again. When he didn’t come or respond it was a bit more worrying. Even when he wandered off, Tonga was very good at coming when Taylor called.
Tonga’s footsteps led to the river. It looked like he went for a drink but after that…
“Oh dear,” Taylor sighed, “It looks like someone stole my jumbuck.”
Taylor did not like it when people stole sheep.
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Night fell and Jake felt that was a good time to set up camp along another stretch of the river, get a fire going for the night, perhaps cook up that sheep he bagged earlier. As he reached for his bag he heard a soft voice behind him say, “That’s my jumbuck.”
“Eh?” he turned and found no one.
“That’s my jumbuck,” he heard again, just outside the light of his fire, “And I want him back.”
“Is that so?” Jake smirked in the direction of the voice, “You got any proof he’s yours? ‘Cause I’ll tell you now, if it’s in my bag, it’s my jumbuck.”
“That’s my jumbuck,” the voice insisted, “And I want him back. If you don’t give him back you’ll die.”
“That a challenge?” Jake grabbed his knife from off the ground and stood up, “If you’re going to spout fighting words, I’m ready to go!”
He was met with silence and when he left the fire to search for the owner of the voice, he found no trace that anyone was ever there. Blaming it on the wind and suddenly not in the mood for sheep, Jake lay his head on his bag and fell asleep with his knife in his hand.
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“Excuse me,” Taylor asked the man behind the desk, a trooper named Kirkland, “Somebody stole my jumbuck.”
“That so?” Kirkland didn’t look up from his paperwork, “When was this?”
“Yesterday,” he stopped his work and looked up at Taylor, raising an eyebrow to silently ask why this was only being reported now, “It happened quite a ways from town, so I’m only getting here now.”
“I see,” he tapped his pen against the desk, “If that’s the case, then I’m not sure there’s much we can do for you. The thief is most likely long gone by now, assuming your jumbuck is still alive-”
“He’s not far,” Taylor interrupted, “the thief I mean. He’s a swagman named Jake. He’s not that far from here, and my jumbuck is with him. We should be able to catch him within a day.”
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“That’s alright,” Taylor smiled, “I just want my Tonga back.”
-
Jake was finally able to stop and rest sometime after midnight. All day he had been chased by a trooper and someone he could only assume to be the owner of the sheep still tucked safely in his bag. All day they had been chasing him down no matter where he went. It took all of his tricks to get away and leave them a safe distance behind. Now he could finally rest and eat that damn sheep…
“That’s my jumbuck,” the voice said as Jake reached for his bag.
“You again!” he snarled into the darkness, “I’m not in the mood right now!”
“That’s my jumbuck,” it said again, “And I want it back.”
“If you want it back so damn much,” Jake shouted as he reached into the bag at tugged out the squirming sheep, “Why don’t you come over here and get it?”
“That’s my jumbuck,” the voice repeated, “And I want it back. If you don’t give him back, you’ll die.”
“I’d like to see you try!” he shouted, half deranged, into the night, clutching the squealing sheep even tighter, “Just try and get this thing before I kill it!”
Jake drew his knife as he held the sheep tight to his chest with one arm, positioning it right at its throat. The sheep renewed the struggles for its life, fidgeting wildly back and forth, trying to break Jake’s grip and make a run for it. But Jake wouldn’t let him; no he wouldn’t let him run. He wouldn’t let him live.
Suddenly a light, a torch, entered his field of vision, blinding him and momentarily stopping his actions before a heard a voice, a different voice, this one had a British accent, say, “Jake I presume?”
Jake turned, knife pointed towards this new threat, and tried to make out an outline in the dim torchlight, “Who’s asking?”
“My name is Arthur Kirkland. I’m a trooper from the next town over,” he spoke calmly as if trying to calm a wild animal, “I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“You think so?” Jake grinned as he continued staring at the light, “This jumbuck here is mine.”
“That’s my jumbuck,” the voice said again, “and I want it back.”
“Well no one asked you!” Jake shouted into the air, “Nobody’s listening to you!”
“Who are you talking to?” the trooper asked as he took a step forward.
“No one,” Jake snarled, clutching the sheep closer as he backed away towards the river, “Stay back!”
“I’m trying to help you!” Kirkland took another step closer, “If you have something that’s not yours-”
“It is mine!” he shouted, taking several steps back and swinging the knife threateningly, “If you can’t say otherwise it’s mine! I found it so it’s mine.”
“That’s my jumbuck-”
“And I’ll not have you say any different!”
“Jake!” Kirkland snapped, “If you just calm yourself and let me see the jumbuck-”
“No!” Jake growled and tensed, ready to pounce at any moment.
“That’s my jumbuck-”
“And I’ve had just about enough out of you!” he screamed at the sky.
“If you would just be reasonable-”
“That’s my jumbuck-”
“-I’m sure we can solve this whole mess-”
“-And I want it back-”
“-If you just let me see the jumbuck!”
“-If you don’t give it back, you’ll die.”
“Would you both just leave me alone!” Jake shrieked and tossed his knife.
Kirkland dodged it on reflex, “There’s no one here but me! I don’t know why you’re so…what are you doing?”
Jake backed up until he was standing right on the riverbank, teetering over the edge, maniacal grin plastered on his face, “Try and follow me here!”
Still clutching the sheep, Jake tipped backward into the river and let himself fall.
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Arthur was able to fish the sheep out of the river, a little shaken, a lot wet, but relatively unharmed. He was not able to find any sign of Jake, alive or dead.
He scratched the sheep’s head, and he gave a happy little baa, as he approached the site where he left Taylor, “Well I found your sheep. He’s perfectly alright, if a little wet.”
“Ah, Tonga!” Taylor beamed as Arthur handed him over, “Thank you so much! This means the world to me.”
“Yes, well,” Arthur cleared his throat, “It’s my job after all. Unfortunately Jake jumped into the river and I wasn’t able to stop him. I’m not sure where he’s run off to-”
“You don’t need to worry about that Mr. Kirkland,” Taylor smiled and nuzzled Tonga, “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Arthur blinked and stared, “You say it so easily. How can you be so sure?”
“It’s quite alright,” Taylor reassured him, “He got what was coming to him.”
Arthur caught a glint in Taylor’s eye that made him take a reflexive step back.
“I don’t like it when people steal jumbucks.”
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Also, That Fucking Island, very apt name for the place. Love it.
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“That was alright,” England shrugged, shaking some of the wax off his hand, “A decent attempt for sure.”
“Decent attempt?” Australia smirked, “Those goose bumps on your arms tell a different story mate.”
England frowned and gripped his candle tighter, “That’s merely because it’s chilly out. I’m not used to such a cold climate.”
“Y-yeah,” America chuckled, voice a pitch higher than normal, “That wasn’t so scary…”
“If that is the case, would you mind releasing my hand now America-san?” Japan asked, “I am starting to lose circulation to it because of your grip.”
“Sorry,” America let go of the hand he had been clutching the entire time. Japan nodded in thanks and flexed it in an attempt to get blood flowing through it once more.
“How are you holding up Germany?” Russia asked with a smile plastered to his face, “Still holding in there?”
“Yes,” Germany cleared his throat, “That was, an interesting story…”
“If no one minds,” Canada said, “I have a story-”
“Can I go next?” Italy bounced in his seat, “I have a really good one! Plus my candle is hot and dripping and it’s getting harder to hold on to and-”
“Yes fine Italy,” England waved at him in frustration, “go ahead and tell yours.”
“Oh Germany, feel free to cling to me if you get scared okay?”
“I’m sure that will not be necessary,” he sighed and motioned for Italy to just get on with it.
“Okay, this is a story about death, ghosts, and murder. But mostly, it’s a story about love…”
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However, he had confided in Germania Beilschmidt, his long time foe in the war that had finally come to an end, she was easily spooked. If she were to see Germania’s oldest son, Gilbert, an albino who she had been promised to as part of the peace negotiations between their two kingdoms, she would become scared, as she had never seen, met, nor heard of albinism before, and she would panic and possibly run away, ruining the peace the two of them have been working so hard for.
But she certainly wasn’t shallow.
Germania didn’t quite understand, but he was tired of the fighting and wanted this marriage to work, so he agreed that, while Feliciana Vargas would be married to Gilbert Beilschmidt, his youngest son, Ludwig, would be the one to go and marry her in Gilbert’s name before taking her back to his brother.
A simple solution for an unnecessary problem.
Gilbert and Ludwig had agreed, and in a few months time, Ludwig had found himself on the Vargas’s doorstep, marriage papers already signed and filled out for a Gilbert Beilschmidt in hand. Romulus had greeted him with his brother’s name and a wink, his oldest son Lovino with a death glare and some curses. Everything was going according to the plan, which made Ludwig quite happy.
But then he was introduced to Feliciana. And something happened to disrupt the carefully laid out plan.
He fell in love with her.
How could he not? Feliciana was very beautiful, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, with auburn hair that glowed in the sunlight, wide, chocolate brown eyes that he could easily get lost in, and a smile that simply lit up the world. She was fearless and always spoke her mind, yet she was friendly and pleasant in a way he could never quite manage. She was perfect, and Ludwig had no choice but to fall hard and fast.
Ludwig was a man of his word however, and although it seemed Feliciana had fallen just as hard and as suddenly for him, he married her under his brother’s name and took her back to their home with the deception still in place. When Feliciana woke up the next morning, she found she not the man she fell in love with by her side but the one she had been promised to.
Feliciana was furious. She threw Gilbert out of the room and locked herself in it for the rest of the day, refusing to eat and listen to anyone, especially her new husband.
Finally, after hours of screaming wore everyone else out, Ludwig was finally able to talk to her alone. He apologized for the deception and, because he was Ludwig and Feliciana loved him, she forgave him. As they spent most of the night talking, they realized that, despite everything, they were both still very much in love with each other, and decided to continue seeing each other behind Gilbert’s back.
For a while it worked; whenever Gilbert left for business, Ludwig would sneak in and make passionate love to Feliciana. They were careful, for a while, took extra precautions to make sure their secret affair was never found out. For a while, their love blossomed.
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Ludwig was, of course, still in bed with her. Luckily he knew of a trap door he could use to make his escape and told Feliciana to open the door. As she did just that, however, part of Ludwig’s jacket got caught on the trap door, and he was stuck.
When Feliciana opened the door for her husband, all their sins were made clear to him. Blinded by rage, Gilbert drew his sword and stormed over to his treacherous brother, intent on ending his life. Feliciana pleaded with him, begged him not to, because they were brothers, because it shouldn’t end this way, but Gilbert allowed his anger to consume him and was deaf to her words. He raised the sword above his brother’s head and thrust it down with the intent to kill.
Only Feliciana, lovely, pure hearted Feliciana, had put herself in between Gilbert’s sword and Ludwig in an attempt to save her love. Gilbert, horrified by what he had done, because he did truly loved her, retracted his sword, allowing her lifeless form to crumple onto the floor, bleeding out from the gaping wound in her chest.
Shock and grief was shared between the brothers, and Ludwig barely felt it when his brother’s sword sliced neatly through his neck.
The next day, the lovers were buried together in the same tomb, and no one wept more than Gilbert.
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(Not to mention that you kinda gave yourself away with the title of this fic. But I don't care, because that show was so much a part of me growing up. And because I still rewatch it on YouTube and love ever damn second.)
Also, I love how they tell these stories on THAT island. Beautiful.
I grew up camping every summer and attending scout outings. Listening to ghost stories and (re)telling them to friends/cousins/siblings, and wandering through the woods late at night while our imaginations wrecked havoc on us. Playing games like Ghost in the Graveyard (http://www.wikihow.com/Play-Ghost-in-the-Graveyard) and other equally creepy ones that you'll never find indexed online.
I LOVE this sort of stuff. Very much awaiting future fills!
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“That was more of a love story than a ghost story,” Australia said as he crossed his legs and smiled.
“Yeah,” America let out a shaky laugh, “Love stories aren’t that scary…”
“Is that so?” England raised an eyebrow, “Then you wouldn’t mind letting go of my hand so I can feel it again?”
“S-sorry…” he released the hand he’d been clutching all story. England scowled and rubbed it in an attempt to return circulation.
“Germany! What did you think?” Italy said, turning to face his friend.
“That was, uh,” Germany gulped and stared intently at the fire, “an interesting story.”
“Your knuckles are looking a bit white there,” Russia smiled.
“Who’s going next?” Canada asked, “If no one else wants to go-”
“I, well,” Germany cleared his throat, “I have a story in mind, if no one else wants to go.”
“Yes, go ahead,” Russia said as the smile on his face grew, “If you are getting scared, it is better to get your story over and done with. America, would you like to go after him?”
“Fat chance,” America smirked, “I’m still totally not scared. And Germany’s story about little mermaids or whatever is not going to change that.”
“Hans Christian Anderson was Danish,” Germany sighed, “and no, my story doesn’t have mermaid princesses. It does, however, have an elf king…”
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Schubert was Austrian, and the original mythos is Danish I think, but the famous poem that Schubert based his composition on was by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who was German, so Germany gets to tell this story.
Erlkoing, by the way, is German for "Elf King," or literally "Alder King," but everyone uses "Elf King." But you're not here for me to rant about languages, you're here to read ghost stories.
Gilbert holds onto his little brother, Ludwig, tightly as he urges the horse through the woods. Ludwig clings firmly to his older brother, frightened by the dark woods, the imposing trees, the scattering sounds all around them this late at night. Suddenly he shudders and pulls his brother’s cloak tighter around him, hiding his face from the forest.
“What’s wrong Lud?” Gilbert attempts a laugh as he pushes the horse faster, “Why are you hiding? There’s nothing out there?”
“Don’t you see him Brother?” Ludwig whispered, barely peeking out over the cloak, “There, hiding among the trees, it’s the Elf King.”
The Elf King is a demon and a trickster, known for preying on the souls of small children, but he’s only a story, a fairy tale. If Ludwig is seeing him…Gilbert shakes his head. That’s a ridiculous notion. It must be the fever talking.
Gilbert looks out into the dark woods surrounding them and sees nothing, “There’s nothing there Lud.”
“He’s there!” Ludwig points out a shaking finger, “Right there, following us! Can’t you see small hat and pointy teeth?”
“There’s nothing there Lud,” he repeats as he grits his teeth and focuses back on the road, “You’re just seeing things in the fog.”
But Ludwig can see him, sees him laughing as he runs alongside the horse and beckons him over with a finger.
“You, dear child, lovely child,” he croons, “Come with me. Come play with me, such wonderful games we will play.” He laughs and Ludwig pales as he tries to escape further into his brother’s coat, “On my beach, there are such lovely flowers. Come see them! Come with me!”
“Brother,” Ludwig tugs at Gilbert’s coat with earnest, “Brother, can’t you hear him? Can’t you hear what the Elf King is promising me?”
“It’s fine, Lud,” he spares an arm to hold his brother more securely as he urges the horse onward, “It’s just the wind. You’re only hearing the wind against the leaves.”
“Don’t you want to come with me, dear child?” he is now gliding effortlessly alongside the horse, whispering in Ludwig’s ear, “My daughters would love for you to come with us.” Behind him in the shadow of the trees, Ludwig sees figures emerging, “Oh they would love for you to come. If you come, they will dance with you all night and sing you to into sleep.”
“Brother,” Ludwig gasps, “Brother, can’t you see over there? The Elf King’s daughters in the woods just beyond the mist?”
“Lud,” Gilbert puffs out as he hurries the horse along, “Lud, I see it clearly. There’s nothing there but old willows. It’s a trick of the light.”
“Oh,” he sighs, right against Ludwig’s cheek, and he can feel the cold chill rushing across his face, “You are too precious, too beautiful for this world. You must come with me, you must,” he grins, showing off his pointed teeth as Ludwig’s body is racked with shudders, “If you will not come willingly, then I’ve not choice but to take you by force.” He reaches out and grabs hold of Ludwig’s arm.
“Brother!” Ludwig shrieks, “Brother, he’s grabbing me! The Elf King, he’s taking me with him!”
“Hold on, Lud,” Gilbert clutches his brother closer to his chest, feeling his fever through his shirt, “Everything will be alright. We’re almost there, I promise, just hang on.”
As they gallop on, Ludwig falls silent, and Gilbert finds this far more disconcerting than his babbling had been.
Gilbert arrives at the doctor’s house, leaps from the saddle, and starts banging on the door, “Specs! Specs get out here now!”
But even as the doctor answers the door, Gilbert realizes it’s already too late.
Ludwig lays in his arms, motionless, dead.
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