Apples to Apples: Chapter 7/13
Title: Apples to Apples
Chapter: 7/13
Author: tdesphtl
Rating: M (for later chapters)
Warning(s): none
AN: So... Bad news, peeps. My computer is officially out of comission. It died last night, which was a total bummer and made me muchly depressed. I'm using my mom's right now, but this is probably the only time I'll get any time with it, so there will be no more updates on Apples to Apples until my computer gets fixed. No worries, though! I'm taking it in tomorrow, and it usually never takes more than a week... I'll try and update maybe on Friday if my laptop isn't back by then. Hopefully I can grab some "alone time" with mom's, seeing as the next chapter is all about the sexy-sexy. ;D All right, that's all I have to say. Please enjoy these next two chapters!! They may be it for a while... *sad day*
The Story of Ambrose:
The boy grew slowly, decades passing before he was able to pass as a man. He kept to himself, continuing his father's work and hiding himself away in the house that his parents had left him.
No one bothered him. No one had the nerve. The town thought his house was haunted, and with the noises from his inventions and the strange-colored smoke from the chimney, he couldn't blame them. Children threw rocks at his windows and yelled particularly nasty things. Passers-by would avoid looking at the house altogether, preferring to ignore it. There were a few curious people who would step up to the drive, but no one would venture any further besides his suppliers.
Before her death, Anna had arranged an agreement with the town's grocer. He was the only one who knew of the boy's situation and would tell no one except his son when he took over so that the line would continue and the boy-turned-hermit would not be forced to interact with people who did not understand. And for decades the agreement was held.
Once, there was a particularly loud explosion from inside the house, and when the man had emerged from his house, coughing and blinking furiously, he found that the grocer's son had left his groceries on the porch but had forgotten to take the money that had been left in the small box attached to the wall beside the door. The grocer's son had, no doubt, been startled by the noise and, in his haste to leave as quickly as possible, had left without retrieving the payment. The man had taken the groceries inside, leaving the money in hopes that the boy would return later when chastised by his father to get it.
Unfortunately, nightfall had come with no sign of the boy, and the man could clearly not take the groceries without paying for them - his inventions were quite popular in neighboring towns and cities and brought in quite a bit of money, which he used only to buy groceries and more supplies for making more inventions. It was the first time the man had dared step foot in town, and he held his breath almost the entire time. The grocer had just been closing when he cautiously stepped through the door.
“Can I help you, Mister?”
The man explained quietly that the grocer's son had made a delivery for him earlier and forgotten to take the money he had left. The grocer's eyes had widened. There was only one place that they delivered to, and he was sure he had never seen the man in his store before.
“You're . . . You're him, aren't you? The inventor!”
The pale man had nodded politely, placing the money on the counter and leaving as quickly as possible. He was grateful for the cover of night. No one seemed to be out after dark.
“You there!”
Well, nearly no one. The inventor stopped abruptly, stiffening and turning slowly to find a man in the doorway of the grocer's store, pointing at him. He was very official-looking with a long, finely-pressed coat and finely-shined boots and finely-combed hair. Probably a guard from the palace.
The official-looking man stepped towards him. “Yes, you.” He stopped when he reached him, studying him carefully and with a harsh scrutiny. The inventor was not used to such attention and squirmed under the gaze. “You are the one they call the inventor?”
Is that what they called him? 'The inventor'? It was actually rather degrading, being known only by one's occupation. But he supposed they did not really know enough about him to call him anything else. He frowned and nodded.
The guard pulled a scroll from his coat, handing it to him and nodding his approval. “You have been summoned by her majesty, the queen. I am to escort you to the palace immediately.”
The inventor did not understand. Why would the queen want an audience with him? How had she known of him? And what of his things? He would have to pack, of course . . . right?
He expressed his concerns softly, not having learned much about proper social etiquette in his solitude but knowing enough to ask politely and with respect. The guard informed him that he was to worry about those things later, that he was given orders to take the man back to the palace . . . no exceptions.
And so the journey to the palace began. The inventor had never ridden a horse before, but he did so as if he had his entire life. Their arrival was met with whispers and wide-eyed looks, the queen herself looking surprised that he had been found. She hadn't expected to see him so soon, if at all. He was notoriously difficult to track, as his inventions were delivered through several different towns and the very town he lived in made it a point to hide his existence altogether.
He was courteous, and his manners were impeccable, even though his appearance was more than a little disturbing, what with his ghastly-pale complexion and skeleton-thin frame.
The queen was quick to make her point. She had acquired many of his inventions and requested his immediate employment. The inventor was not, however, quick to answer. He thought of his house - his parents' house; the house he had lived in his entire life - and his inventions and the town and the people . . . Well, not so much the people. But he knew he would miss it. However, he also knew that life without change was a life without experience, without living.
So he accepted. And there in the palace he stayed for many centuries, watching over and advising queen after queen. It was really not as exciting as he would have hoped, but when a lavender-eyed princess was thrust into his arms, he felt deep within himself that things were about to change . . . Whether for the better or for worse he was not sure, but he knew it would come, and there would be nothing to stop it.
Years later, after the witch had removed his brain and he had been wandering for a very long time, he stood in the abandoned palace he had once lived in, staring at a portrait of himself and the queen, having not the memory to tell the princess at his side that it was not a portrait of her mother but of her great-grandmother.
And after everything had been restored - including his brain - the memories rushed over him like an ocean. Centuries of experience flooding his thoughts, drowning his senses. He had barely withstood it with his sanity intact. Only one thought kept him in his right mind - that of a certain secret whispered into the inventor's ear when he was very young:
“My dearest Ambrose . . . Your freedom lies in true love. Only then can your enchantment be broken. Only then can you live your happily ever after.”
And it was strange to him that when his mother's words echoed in his mind, the face that plagued his thoughts was that of a very familiar tin man . . .
0 o 0 o 0
Cain and Ambrose weaved their way through the forest, their boots kicking up fallen leaves. It was getting cooler, close to winter, and neither of them relished the notion of being caught in the first snowfall.
“Do you think you'll marry her?” The tin man asked conversationally, stepping over a nasty-looking hunting trap.
“Azkadellia?” The inventor questioned, his eyebrows raised as a funny smile spread across his face. “No, I don't believe so.”
“The queen won't make you?”
“The queen won't make her,” Ambrose explained, using a branch as leverage as he walked over a few jagged, uneven rocks. “Though even if the queen is insistent enough to convince the princess - because Azkadellia is not at all fond of marrying me now that the witch tortured me by using her magic - her majesty is aware that I cannot marry someone I do not love . . . I think she just has high hopes that the princess and I will have feelings enough for each other that . . .”
Cain glanced over his shoulder, finding a frown on the inventor's lips as he sifted through his thoughts. “That?”
Ambrose looked up, staring back into the tin man's icy blues and offering a small smile and a shake of his head. “It's a very long story.”
“I've had my share of those,” Cain insisted encouragingly.
“It's more of a faerie tale, really.”
“Had my share of those too. And it's not like we don't have the time.”
“Well,” the inventor said hesitantly, “you can't say that I didn't warn you.”
Cain thought about laughing at that statement, but the tone that Ambrose used made him think twice about asking to hear the story in the first place.
“My mother's name was Anna,” the inventor started.
“Don't these kinds of stories usually start off with 'Once upon a time'?” The tin man smirked, ducking under a low-hanging branch.
“Very well,” Ambrose said with a strained smile. “Once upon a time . . .”
AN: Well, until next time, peeps. Again, I'm really, really sorry. I certainly hope that my computer gets all righty-tighty as soon as possible. It really shouldn't take too long... Anyway, I just want to point out that the story about the elves and the girl is a Grimm Tale. One of my favorites. :D Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.
Chapter: 7/13
Author: tdesphtl
Rating: M (for later chapters)
Warning(s): none
AN: So... Bad news, peeps. My computer is officially out of comission. It died last night, which was a total bummer and made me muchly depressed. I'm using my mom's right now, but this is probably the only time I'll get any time with it, so there will be no more updates on Apples to Apples until my computer gets fixed. No worries, though! I'm taking it in tomorrow, and it usually never takes more than a week... I'll try and update maybe on Friday if my laptop isn't back by then. Hopefully I can grab some "alone time" with mom's, seeing as the next chapter is all about the sexy-sexy. ;D All right, that's all I have to say. Please enjoy these next two chapters!! They may be it for a while... *sad day*
The Story of Ambrose:
The boy grew slowly, decades passing before he was able to pass as a man. He kept to himself, continuing his father's work and hiding himself away in the house that his parents had left him.
No one bothered him. No one had the nerve. The town thought his house was haunted, and with the noises from his inventions and the strange-colored smoke from the chimney, he couldn't blame them. Children threw rocks at his windows and yelled particularly nasty things. Passers-by would avoid looking at the house altogether, preferring to ignore it. There were a few curious people who would step up to the drive, but no one would venture any further besides his suppliers.
Before her death, Anna had arranged an agreement with the town's grocer. He was the only one who knew of the boy's situation and would tell no one except his son when he took over so that the line would continue and the boy-turned-hermit would not be forced to interact with people who did not understand. And for decades the agreement was held.
Once, there was a particularly loud explosion from inside the house, and when the man had emerged from his house, coughing and blinking furiously, he found that the grocer's son had left his groceries on the porch but had forgotten to take the money that had been left in the small box attached to the wall beside the door. The grocer's son had, no doubt, been startled by the noise and, in his haste to leave as quickly as possible, had left without retrieving the payment. The man had taken the groceries inside, leaving the money in hopes that the boy would return later when chastised by his father to get it.
Unfortunately, nightfall had come with no sign of the boy, and the man could clearly not take the groceries without paying for them - his inventions were quite popular in neighboring towns and cities and brought in quite a bit of money, which he used only to buy groceries and more supplies for making more inventions. It was the first time the man had dared step foot in town, and he held his breath almost the entire time. The grocer had just been closing when he cautiously stepped through the door.
“Can I help you, Mister?”
The man explained quietly that the grocer's son had made a delivery for him earlier and forgotten to take the money he had left. The grocer's eyes had widened. There was only one place that they delivered to, and he was sure he had never seen the man in his store before.
“You're . . . You're him, aren't you? The inventor!”
The pale man had nodded politely, placing the money on the counter and leaving as quickly as possible. He was grateful for the cover of night. No one seemed to be out after dark.
“You there!”
Well, nearly no one. The inventor stopped abruptly, stiffening and turning slowly to find a man in the doorway of the grocer's store, pointing at him. He was very official-looking with a long, finely-pressed coat and finely-shined boots and finely-combed hair. Probably a guard from the palace.
The official-looking man stepped towards him. “Yes, you.” He stopped when he reached him, studying him carefully and with a harsh scrutiny. The inventor was not used to such attention and squirmed under the gaze. “You are the one they call the inventor?”
Is that what they called him? 'The inventor'? It was actually rather degrading, being known only by one's occupation. But he supposed they did not really know enough about him to call him anything else. He frowned and nodded.
The guard pulled a scroll from his coat, handing it to him and nodding his approval. “You have been summoned by her majesty, the queen. I am to escort you to the palace immediately.”
The inventor did not understand. Why would the queen want an audience with him? How had she known of him? And what of his things? He would have to pack, of course . . . right?
He expressed his concerns softly, not having learned much about proper social etiquette in his solitude but knowing enough to ask politely and with respect. The guard informed him that he was to worry about those things later, that he was given orders to take the man back to the palace . . . no exceptions.
And so the journey to the palace began. The inventor had never ridden a horse before, but he did so as if he had his entire life. Their arrival was met with whispers and wide-eyed looks, the queen herself looking surprised that he had been found. She hadn't expected to see him so soon, if at all. He was notoriously difficult to track, as his inventions were delivered through several different towns and the very town he lived in made it a point to hide his existence altogether.
He was courteous, and his manners were impeccable, even though his appearance was more than a little disturbing, what with his ghastly-pale complexion and skeleton-thin frame.
The queen was quick to make her point. She had acquired many of his inventions and requested his immediate employment. The inventor was not, however, quick to answer. He thought of his house - his parents' house; the house he had lived in his entire life - and his inventions and the town and the people . . . Well, not so much the people. But he knew he would miss it. However, he also knew that life without change was a life without experience, without living.
So he accepted. And there in the palace he stayed for many centuries, watching over and advising queen after queen. It was really not as exciting as he would have hoped, but when a lavender-eyed princess was thrust into his arms, he felt deep within himself that things were about to change . . . Whether for the better or for worse he was not sure, but he knew it would come, and there would be nothing to stop it.
Years later, after the witch had removed his brain and he had been wandering for a very long time, he stood in the abandoned palace he had once lived in, staring at a portrait of himself and the queen, having not the memory to tell the princess at his side that it was not a portrait of her mother but of her great-grandmother.
And after everything had been restored - including his brain - the memories rushed over him like an ocean. Centuries of experience flooding his thoughts, drowning his senses. He had barely withstood it with his sanity intact. Only one thought kept him in his right mind - that of a certain secret whispered into the inventor's ear when he was very young:
“My dearest Ambrose . . . Your freedom lies in true love. Only then can your enchantment be broken. Only then can you live your happily ever after.”
And it was strange to him that when his mother's words echoed in his mind, the face that plagued his thoughts was that of a very familiar tin man . . .
0 o 0 o 0
Cain and Ambrose weaved their way through the forest, their boots kicking up fallen leaves. It was getting cooler, close to winter, and neither of them relished the notion of being caught in the first snowfall.
“Do you think you'll marry her?” The tin man asked conversationally, stepping over a nasty-looking hunting trap.
“Azkadellia?” The inventor questioned, his eyebrows raised as a funny smile spread across his face. “No, I don't believe so.”
“The queen won't make you?”
“The queen won't make her,” Ambrose explained, using a branch as leverage as he walked over a few jagged, uneven rocks. “Though even if the queen is insistent enough to convince the princess - because Azkadellia is not at all fond of marrying me now that the witch tortured me by using her magic - her majesty is aware that I cannot marry someone I do not love . . . I think she just has high hopes that the princess and I will have feelings enough for each other that . . .”
Cain glanced over his shoulder, finding a frown on the inventor's lips as he sifted through his thoughts. “That?”
Ambrose looked up, staring back into the tin man's icy blues and offering a small smile and a shake of his head. “It's a very long story.”
“I've had my share of those,” Cain insisted encouragingly.
“It's more of a faerie tale, really.”
“Had my share of those too. And it's not like we don't have the time.”
“Well,” the inventor said hesitantly, “you can't say that I didn't warn you.”
Cain thought about laughing at that statement, but the tone that Ambrose used made him think twice about asking to hear the story in the first place.
“My mother's name was Anna,” the inventor started.
“Don't these kinds of stories usually start off with 'Once upon a time'?” The tin man smirked, ducking under a low-hanging branch.
“Very well,” Ambrose said with a strained smile. “Once upon a time . . .”
AN: Well, until next time, peeps. Again, I'm really, really sorry. I certainly hope that my computer gets all righty-tighty as soon as possible. It really shouldn't take too long... Anyway, I just want to point out that the story about the elves and the girl is a Grimm Tale. One of my favorites. :D Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.