(no subject)
Title: regretting intently
Pairing: Beckabeth
Rating: PG or so
Summary: A "missing scene" from DMC, written for
ariei_delmonte
in exchange for a custom-made icon.
Disclaimer:
Pintel: We know you are writing, poppet.
Ragetti: Poppet.
Pintel: Disclaim, and we promise we won’t hurt you. He will find you, poppet. He's got all of ours and he calls to us. The mouse calls to us.
Ragetti: Mouse calls…
Pintel: Hello, poppet.
Authoress: I disclaim!
Ragetti: What?
Authoress: Disclaim. I claim no copyright. All rights are owned by the owners: the irate rodent and the acting crew; you have to believe I make no money.
Pintel: I know the code.
Authoress: If a fangirl makes no money you can do them no harm.
Ragetti: To blazes with the code.
Pintel: She wants to keep to the rules. And she’ll do without a fuss. We must honor the code.
Regretting Intently
"Consider into your calculations that you robbed me of my wedding night.", the spoiled shrew had said. So he'd done. A marriage interrupted, fate intervened. He was still of the opinion that old Swann would have embraced him as son-in-law with outmost joy, and would have supported his career henceforth (not to mention handed over estates and plantations as a dowry), just out of gratitude for Cutler making his daughter an honest woman (as opposed to a wanted criminal) and ending this unseemly blacksmith affair. Seriously, what was the trouble with the female kind? Were their smaller brains and unbalanced fluids reason enough to be so mentally unsound and exciteable? Or was it only loose women who could not bear to be reminded of their faults - as in: "Now really. Before leaving, please do tell me for whom of your three ... suitors these papers are really meant. Would that be the longest ... tallest, the iron-hard, or the best shot?"
Once again, Cutler tried to shift a little, and failed for the two-scoreth time or so. And for the umpteenth time that night, he silently avowed three things: firstly, to always fold away his silken cravats in a locked drawer like an orderly good boy; secondly, never to use musk&patchouli-scented wig-powder again, since the taste was ghastly; and thirdly, not to order a whole cucumber again for dinner. At least not such a large one.
Pairing: Beckabeth
Rating: PG or so
Summary: A "missing scene" from DMC, written for
ariei_delmonte
in exchange for a custom-made icon.
Disclaimer:
Pintel: We know you are writing, poppet.
Ragetti: Poppet.
Pintel: Disclaim, and we promise we won’t hurt you. He will find you, poppet. He's got all of ours and he calls to us. The mouse calls to us.
Ragetti: Mouse calls…
Pintel: Hello, poppet.
Authoress: I disclaim!
Ragetti: What?
Authoress: Disclaim. I claim no copyright. All rights are owned by the owners: the irate rodent and the acting crew; you have to believe I make no money.
Pintel: I know the code.
Authoress: If a fangirl makes no money you can do them no harm.
Ragetti: To blazes with the code.
Pintel: She wants to keep to the rules. And she’ll do without a fuss. We must honor the code.
Regretting Intently
"Consider into your calculations that you robbed me of my wedding night.", the spoiled shrew had said. So he'd done. A marriage interrupted, fate intervened. He was still of the opinion that old Swann would have embraced him as son-in-law with outmost joy, and would have supported his career henceforth (not to mention handed over estates and plantations as a dowry), just out of gratitude for Cutler making his daughter an honest woman (as opposed to a wanted criminal) and ending this unseemly blacksmith affair. Seriously, what was the trouble with the female kind? Were their smaller brains and unbalanced fluids reason enough to be so mentally unsound and exciteable? Or was it only loose women who could not bear to be reminded of their faults - as in: "Now really. Before leaving, please do tell me for whom of your three ... suitors these papers are really meant. Would that be the longest ... tallest, the iron-hard, or the best shot?"
Once again, Cutler tried to shift a little, and failed for the two-scoreth time or so. And for the umpteenth time that night, he silently avowed three things: firstly, to always fold away his silken cravats in a locked drawer like an orderly good boy; secondly, never to use musk&patchouli-scented wig-powder again, since the taste was ghastly; and thirdly, not to order a whole cucumber again for dinner. At least not such a large one.