Fic: Old-Fashioned
Title: Old-Fashioned
Characters: Amelia
Genre: Fantasy, humour, les fiction
Status: Complete, oneshot
Rating: PG
Content: Naked ladies, staves
Length: 1, 035 words
Summary: Amelia was tired of want-to-be lovers creeping into her house. Whatever happened to asking someone out the old-fashioned way?
Setting: Magician 'verse, no particular time.
AN: Thanks to a conversation abstract_whisk and I were having about what we'd really do if we discovered a naked someone in our bedroom at night. Yes, I have been plagued by plot bunnies of all different kinds of late. Why, did you notice? :P
Just to point out for all the slash-preferring people that this story does involve a female narrator and some not-explicit admiration for the body of her stalker (I honestly don't know why I wrote it this way, but this is the easiest les-fic piece I've ever written) but you might well enjoy it anyway, since it plays off the Ero-and-March scenario in Ero's Evening Escapade.
Incidentally, I believe it's the shortest complete oneshot I've ever written. *gasps in shock*
When she heard the second rustle, she reached down beside her bed and grabbed at the hard wooden stave she kept there, just in case. Anyone who didn't sleep within reach of some kind of a weapon - be it a stave, a knife, a sword, a chair-leg, a pissed-off cat - was an idiot. You just never knew, those days, what kind of foolhardy idiot would take it upon themselves to invade your private space. Young idiots, she muttered under breath, raising the stave and waiting for whomever it was - not the cat, no cat was stupid enough to rustle and risk being mistaken for an intruder - to draw closer. It was all the rage amongst the lovesick, impressionable, young, and downright stupid - a current fashion worse than constricting corsetry and five hundred buttons down the back of her dress. (Amelia had never gone in much for fashion. It was annoying. And for some reason, it still didn't dissuade the idiots, even though she'd taken to wearing breeches and a red polka-dot coat.) Worse than that time where everyone had gone about quoting soppy romantic poetry in lieu of just asking someone to the town hall dance. (All those thees and thous; it was worse than listening to a magician make mincemeat of magic.) Why the hell did everyone have to trouble themselves so much with being new and innovative and romantic?
She heard a faint cough, likely muffled by a hand. Amelia waited a moment longer - and then sat up, and swung.
She couldn't fight to save herself, really, but in the dark - and in a room cleared of most things breakable, because Amelia knew her aim was atrocious - it didn't matter: she just waited until they were close enough and then hit them. She heard a series of thumps, a gasp, then swearing, and something that sounded like someone crying … yes, there it was, a betraying sniffle. Curse it, I just had to get another weeper, she muttered, dropping the stave back on the ground and leaning over for the beside lamp, fumbling with a box of those new-fangled matches.
"Oh, get up," she said, holding the lamp high. A girl a little younger than herself sat huddled on the floor, one hand wrapped around her elbow. She was gorgeous, Amelia had to admit - round and curvy, breasts heavy enough to fill her hands, a mane of curly chestnut hair tumbling down her back and falling in her eyes. (Big, beautiful green eyes, and the kind of pouty lips Amelia preferred, especially when they were pressed against her own.) Definitely gorgeous, in the way that made Amelia wonder if something was wrong with her. Anyone else would be thrilled to discover a naked young woman creeping into their room, especially if she had every last intent of getting under the covers with her and beginning a seduction. Everyone did it nowadays - the lovesick skipped the whole tradition of meeting, dating, getting to know each other over a meal. Stalking was flattering, everyone insisted. How else did you really know if someone loved you, if they weren't willing to creep into your house after dark? If they weren't going to devote the time to watching your every move, admiring your every action, and discovering just how to get inside a locked-down house, clearly they didn't love you enough. She should be flattered that so many in the village devoted such effort to the crazy village witch who wore polka-dots!
Amelia was sure she'd fastened the windows and bolted the door. Perhaps the cellar? She'd better get to some investigating tomorrow, before this girl got it into her head that Amelia was just playing hard-to-get and came back. Perhaps she should walk around the house in circles with her cat and chant gobbledygook death spells or something, right at noon when everyone would be watching. Everyone knew that magic was more powerful, dark and serious when a cat was involved, after all. "Get up, stop crying, and go home. Try asking someone else out the proper way next time. Mentioning your name, too, might help."
"I … you're the most beautiful woman I ever saw…"
"And you're a stranger invading my house," Amelia pointed out, folding her arms and trying not to stare at the girl's breasts. (So full, but somehow perky in the way that only young women managed. Her skin looked so pale. It had to be as soft as it looked under her fingertips.) "Now get out before I throw my cat at you."
She heard a clattering noise that sounded like a cat streaking for shelter under her bed, but at least the girl looked concerned, struggling to her feet with her fingers still cupping her elbow. She didn't even look red or blotchy, despite the tears streaming down her face. "But … but … I did all this for you…"
Amelia reached down beside the bed and grabbed the stave, staring at the girl and trying to look suitably witch-like. (She really wasn't a very good witch. All things necromantic, she had a fair hand at, but any sorts of useful witch-like things, not so much. The village let her stay on because she pretended to be magical and because she'd studied medicine abroad.) "If you do not get out of my house in three minutes I will turn you and your entire family into toads. Dead toads."
"But…"
"One, two, three, four, five…"
She yelped and scurried for the door.
"Please tell everyone that if they want me, they can send prior notification in writing," Amelia yelled, dropping the staff and placing the lamp back on the bedside table. The main door, with its ominous-but-useful-for-scaring-people creak, slammed shut; she could still hear the crunch of the girl's footsteps as she ran down the gravel path towards the moat.
"Good heavens," she muttered, as the cat ventured out from underneath the bed, blowing out the lamp and lying back down. "Do they all seriously think that because they're gorgeous, I'm not going to care if they invade my house? Whilst naked?"
The cat said nothing, just jumped up on her feet and clawed her through her quilt.
"I know, I know," Amelia murmured. "I'm just too old-fashioned…"
Characters: Amelia
Genre: Fantasy, humour, les fiction
Status: Complete, oneshot
Rating: PG
Content: Naked ladies, staves
Length: 1, 035 words
Summary: Amelia was tired of want-to-be lovers creeping into her house. Whatever happened to asking someone out the old-fashioned way?
Setting: Magician 'verse, no particular time.
AN: Thanks to a conversation abstract_whisk and I were having about what we'd really do if we discovered a naked someone in our bedroom at night. Yes, I have been plagued by plot bunnies of all different kinds of late. Why, did you notice? :P
Just to point out for all the slash-preferring people that this story does involve a female narrator and some not-explicit admiration for the body of her stalker (I honestly don't know why I wrote it this way, but this is the easiest les-fic piece I've ever written) but you might well enjoy it anyway, since it plays off the Ero-and-March scenario in Ero's Evening Escapade.
Incidentally, I believe it's the shortest complete oneshot I've ever written. *gasps in shock*
When she heard the second rustle, she reached down beside her bed and grabbed at the hard wooden stave she kept there, just in case. Anyone who didn't sleep within reach of some kind of a weapon - be it a stave, a knife, a sword, a chair-leg, a pissed-off cat - was an idiot. You just never knew, those days, what kind of foolhardy idiot would take it upon themselves to invade your private space. Young idiots, she muttered under breath, raising the stave and waiting for whomever it was - not the cat, no cat was stupid enough to rustle and risk being mistaken for an intruder - to draw closer. It was all the rage amongst the lovesick, impressionable, young, and downright stupid - a current fashion worse than constricting corsetry and five hundred buttons down the back of her dress. (Amelia had never gone in much for fashion. It was annoying. And for some reason, it still didn't dissuade the idiots, even though she'd taken to wearing breeches and a red polka-dot coat.) Worse than that time where everyone had gone about quoting soppy romantic poetry in lieu of just asking someone to the town hall dance. (All those thees and thous; it was worse than listening to a magician make mincemeat of magic.) Why the hell did everyone have to trouble themselves so much with being new and innovative and romantic?
She heard a faint cough, likely muffled by a hand. Amelia waited a moment longer - and then sat up, and swung.
She couldn't fight to save herself, really, but in the dark - and in a room cleared of most things breakable, because Amelia knew her aim was atrocious - it didn't matter: she just waited until they were close enough and then hit them. She heard a series of thumps, a gasp, then swearing, and something that sounded like someone crying … yes, there it was, a betraying sniffle. Curse it, I just had to get another weeper, she muttered, dropping the stave back on the ground and leaning over for the beside lamp, fumbling with a box of those new-fangled matches.
"Oh, get up," she said, holding the lamp high. A girl a little younger than herself sat huddled on the floor, one hand wrapped around her elbow. She was gorgeous, Amelia had to admit - round and curvy, breasts heavy enough to fill her hands, a mane of curly chestnut hair tumbling down her back and falling in her eyes. (Big, beautiful green eyes, and the kind of pouty lips Amelia preferred, especially when they were pressed against her own.) Definitely gorgeous, in the way that made Amelia wonder if something was wrong with her. Anyone else would be thrilled to discover a naked young woman creeping into their room, especially if she had every last intent of getting under the covers with her and beginning a seduction. Everyone did it nowadays - the lovesick skipped the whole tradition of meeting, dating, getting to know each other over a meal. Stalking was flattering, everyone insisted. How else did you really know if someone loved you, if they weren't willing to creep into your house after dark? If they weren't going to devote the time to watching your every move, admiring your every action, and discovering just how to get inside a locked-down house, clearly they didn't love you enough. She should be flattered that so many in the village devoted such effort to the crazy village witch who wore polka-dots!
Amelia was sure she'd fastened the windows and bolted the door. Perhaps the cellar? She'd better get to some investigating tomorrow, before this girl got it into her head that Amelia was just playing hard-to-get and came back. Perhaps she should walk around the house in circles with her cat and chant gobbledygook death spells or something, right at noon when everyone would be watching. Everyone knew that magic was more powerful, dark and serious when a cat was involved, after all. "Get up, stop crying, and go home. Try asking someone else out the proper way next time. Mentioning your name, too, might help."
"I … you're the most beautiful woman I ever saw…"
"And you're a stranger invading my house," Amelia pointed out, folding her arms and trying not to stare at the girl's breasts. (So full, but somehow perky in the way that only young women managed. Her skin looked so pale. It had to be as soft as it looked under her fingertips.) "Now get out before I throw my cat at you."
She heard a clattering noise that sounded like a cat streaking for shelter under her bed, but at least the girl looked concerned, struggling to her feet with her fingers still cupping her elbow. She didn't even look red or blotchy, despite the tears streaming down her face. "But … but … I did all this for you…"
Amelia reached down beside the bed and grabbed the stave, staring at the girl and trying to look suitably witch-like. (She really wasn't a very good witch. All things necromantic, she had a fair hand at, but any sorts of useful witch-like things, not so much. The village let her stay on because she pretended to be magical and because she'd studied medicine abroad.) "If you do not get out of my house in three minutes I will turn you and your entire family into toads. Dead toads."
"But…"
"One, two, three, four, five…"
She yelped and scurried for the door.
"Please tell everyone that if they want me, they can send prior notification in writing," Amelia yelled, dropping the staff and placing the lamp back on the bedside table. The main door, with its ominous-but-useful-for-scaring-people creak, slammed shut; she could still hear the crunch of the girl's footsteps as she ran down the gravel path towards the moat.
"Good heavens," she muttered, as the cat ventured out from underneath the bed, blowing out the lamp and lying back down. "Do they all seriously think that because they're gorgeous, I'm not going to care if they invade my house? Whilst naked?"
The cat said nothing, just jumped up on her feet and clawed her through her quilt.
"I know, I know," Amelia murmured. "I'm just too old-fashioned…"