Fic, Fic, Fic.
You know you're writing fanfic when a narrative dead end is suddenly fixed by branding.
"Darn it, what can I do to him next? Huh ... I ... wait. BRANDING! WE CAN HAS BRANDING NEXT! That'll hurt *and* be sexy. Sort of."
This is currently a drawer whump fic, mind you.
BUT IT'S VERY IMPORTANT TO HAVE STRUCTURE, DAMN IT.
I've officially lost my mind.
~*~
It's WIP amnesty week, isn't it? I wonder if I ever shared this one before.
Untitled Inigo/Fezzik fic, Princess Bride, Unfinished.
The sale of Humperdink's horses turned out to be the most profitable business transaction of Inigo Montoya's life, changing purebred horseflesh into a small cottage and two acres of grape vines in Castile.
The cottage was run down, the vines half-dead and Inigo was very sure he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life, except, maybe for the five-fingered man lying dead at his feet.
"Fezzik," he exclaimed standing the cottage's doorway, or partial doorway, as the door itself was no longer in evidence. "I think we are home."
Fezzik, who would have called a gutter "home" if he was sharing that gutter with Inigo, nodded. "No longer will we roam."
Inigo grinned wryly at him. "It's going to take some work."
Fezzik's brow wrinkled in thought, before he brightened. "Because if we don't have a roof, it will irk!"
"Or money, which I'm afraid we are fresh out of," Inigo sighed. He rubbed his face tiredly. The sun was setting before them and he grimaced before settling down on the cottage stoop. His injuries still ached, and he wondered if he were too old for a new beginning, but a glance up at his giant friend lifted his heart.
He wasn't alone, as he always feared he would be. Feared it more than never being able to find his father's killer, feared it more than death.
"We could make wine to sell," Fezzik said, pinching a dry vine between his massive fingertips. "You know about wine, don't you?"
Inigo chuckled weakly. "I know how to drink it." He leaned back against the cracked brickwork. "But, that's a start, I suppose. I hope we can bring these twigs back to life."
Fezzik thought for a moment, before lumbering off, taking an abandoned wine barrell with him, carrying the huge oak cask on his shoulder as if it were a bread basket. Even more impressive, he returned with it full of water and proceeded to water the vines with care, again and again by the bucket and Inigo watched as the thirsty ground drank up every drop. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could have sworn the fragile plants were already starting to perk up.
"All it takes is some love," Fezzik said when he'd finished. "Or rain from above."
"To give them a shove?"
"That's a good one," Fezzik said, impressed. "Not much rhymes with love."
"Maybe that's because there is nothing like it, my friend," Inigo said, reaching out his hand and letting Fezzik pull him up. He squared his shoulders. "Tomorrow is a new beginning, Fezzik. Are you ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be. I think."
Inigo squeezed his arm. "That's all I need to know."
It was later that evening that Inigo Montoya hung up his father's sword above the fireplace, freshly polished and shining like a star in the firelight, while Fezzik looked on in awe.
It had never looked more beautiful.
0o0o0o
Of course, no one is ever ready for days and weeks of seemingly endless toil, but Fezzik worked without complaint, his inexhaustable strength making up for Inigo's pronounced lack of stamina. Soon, Inigo simply directed with Fezzik following orders and it worked out much better that way, as Inigo was a much kinder taskmaster than Vinizzi ever was. The house began to take real shape, with a sturdy roof and new door, the vines began to thrive, bursting with a respectable harvest.
There was the small problem of crushing them, but again, Fezzik solved the problem in the age-old way, standing in a huge barrel and smashing them in huge batches beneath his giagantic feet, as Inigo laughed. "They don't stand a chance, do they?"
"I like this," Fezzik said as he stomped, the grapes pulverisized with every step. "It's better than fighting."
"Or running," Inigo agreed, as he siphoned off the ruby liquid.
---
It annoys me that I'll probably never finish this. *grumps*
~*~
I'm in a real procrastinating head space these days. Good I haven't signed up for anything. Epic fail, avoided.
"Darn it, what can I do to him next? Huh ... I ... wait. BRANDING! WE CAN HAS BRANDING NEXT! That'll hurt *and* be sexy. Sort of."
This is currently a drawer whump fic, mind you.
BUT IT'S VERY IMPORTANT TO HAVE STRUCTURE, DAMN IT.
I've officially lost my mind.
~*~
It's WIP amnesty week, isn't it? I wonder if I ever shared this one before.
Untitled Inigo/Fezzik fic, Princess Bride, Unfinished.
The sale of Humperdink's horses turned out to be the most profitable business transaction of Inigo Montoya's life, changing purebred horseflesh into a small cottage and two acres of grape vines in Castile.
The cottage was run down, the vines half-dead and Inigo was very sure he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life, except, maybe for the five-fingered man lying dead at his feet.
"Fezzik," he exclaimed standing the cottage's doorway, or partial doorway, as the door itself was no longer in evidence. "I think we are home."
Fezzik, who would have called a gutter "home" if he was sharing that gutter with Inigo, nodded. "No longer will we roam."
Inigo grinned wryly at him. "It's going to take some work."
Fezzik's brow wrinkled in thought, before he brightened. "Because if we don't have a roof, it will irk!"
"Or money, which I'm afraid we are fresh out of," Inigo sighed. He rubbed his face tiredly. The sun was setting before them and he grimaced before settling down on the cottage stoop. His injuries still ached, and he wondered if he were too old for a new beginning, but a glance up at his giant friend lifted his heart.
He wasn't alone, as he always feared he would be. Feared it more than never being able to find his father's killer, feared it more than death.
"We could make wine to sell," Fezzik said, pinching a dry vine between his massive fingertips. "You know about wine, don't you?"
Inigo chuckled weakly. "I know how to drink it." He leaned back against the cracked brickwork. "But, that's a start, I suppose. I hope we can bring these twigs back to life."
Fezzik thought for a moment, before lumbering off, taking an abandoned wine barrell with him, carrying the huge oak cask on his shoulder as if it were a bread basket. Even more impressive, he returned with it full of water and proceeded to water the vines with care, again and again by the bucket and Inigo watched as the thirsty ground drank up every drop. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could have sworn the fragile plants were already starting to perk up.
"All it takes is some love," Fezzik said when he'd finished. "Or rain from above."
"To give them a shove?"
"That's a good one," Fezzik said, impressed. "Not much rhymes with love."
"Maybe that's because there is nothing like it, my friend," Inigo said, reaching out his hand and letting Fezzik pull him up. He squared his shoulders. "Tomorrow is a new beginning, Fezzik. Are you ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be. I think."
Inigo squeezed his arm. "That's all I need to know."
It was later that evening that Inigo Montoya hung up his father's sword above the fireplace, freshly polished and shining like a star in the firelight, while Fezzik looked on in awe.
It had never looked more beautiful.
0o0o0o
Of course, no one is ever ready for days and weeks of seemingly endless toil, but Fezzik worked without complaint, his inexhaustable strength making up for Inigo's pronounced lack of stamina. Soon, Inigo simply directed with Fezzik following orders and it worked out much better that way, as Inigo was a much kinder taskmaster than Vinizzi ever was. The house began to take real shape, with a sturdy roof and new door, the vines began to thrive, bursting with a respectable harvest.
There was the small problem of crushing them, but again, Fezzik solved the problem in the age-old way, standing in a huge barrel and smashing them in huge batches beneath his giagantic feet, as Inigo laughed. "They don't stand a chance, do they?"
"I like this," Fezzik said as he stomped, the grapes pulverisized with every step. "It's better than fighting."
"Or running," Inigo agreed, as he siphoned off the ruby liquid.
---
It annoys me that I'll probably never finish this. *grumps*
~*~
I'm in a real procrastinating head space these days. Good I haven't signed up for anything. Epic fail, avoided.