unfinished fics: Long Legs and Gorgeous Hair, Dawn's Pony, Unicorn Dreams
I saw a meme the other day that had people posting their works in progress. My one WiP is only one sentence long at present ("She was seventeen years old, and out long past curfew," if anyone's curious) so here are three fics that I started and don't intend to finish.
Feedback still = ♥
Long Legs and Gorgeous Hair
Fandoms: Firefly & Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Ships: none, but would have been Sirius/Zoe, with Zoe/Wash and Sirius/Remus (post-Serenity, post-OotP)
Notes: Sirius falls through the Veil and reappears five hundred years in the future, on a planet that is not Earth. He's determined to find his way back to Earth and the Veil - providing it still exists. Unfortunately, Earth is currently populated by radioactive zombies, there are pirates after him, and he just met this really hot woman.
Sirius Black preferred cock, but even he couldn't help staring when she strode into the bar. He grabbed a few coins from his pocket, pushed them at the man seated next to him.
"I'll give you all this if you'll get out of here right now."
Sirius's gaze was still on the woman who'd just entered, but he felt the man seize the platinum and he heard he barstool rattle against the wooden planks as he made his exit.
"Oi," said Sirius to the bartender. "A drink for the lady. On me."
"I ain't no lady," the woman said as she slid onto the barstool beside Sirius. Light from the ceiling flashed against the pistol at her hip.
Cool, thought Sirius.
The woman, he learned over a few flagons of ale, was called Zoe and she was on shore leave. She flew on Serenity, captained by Malcolm Reynolds, beside whom she'd fought in the war. That was about all he could get out of her.
He, on the other hand, found himself babbling while she watched silently, her full, dark lips curved in an amused smile. He didn't tell her everything. Since that ancient archway had spat him into this bizarre future he'd learned that there were some things you simply did not say - I can do magic and I'm from Earth being two.
But he recounted some of his travels to her, told her how he'd ended up stranded on this backwater planet. He told her the last horrible joke he'd heard - the one about the pirate who had a wheel sticking out of his flies.
"You know the sort of wheel I mean," Sirius said, describing a circle with his hands, then pantomiming steering.
"I seen the kind of wheels you mean," Zoe said indulgently.
"Right, so. This pirate, he walks into a bar and the bartender, he points to the wheel sticking out of this pirate bloke's flies and he says, 'What's that?' And the pirate bloke, he says, 'It's driving me nuts!' Get it?"
"I get it." She sipped her ale. "You sure talk a lot."
Sirius shrugged. "It's to hide the fact that I'm actually painfully shy."
She cracked another small smile.
Merlin's beard, she was gorgeous. Like one of those Egyptian goddesses in the books Remus liked to read. Even the thought of Remus didn't cool him. Sirius really did prefer a good, thick cock up his arse, but any bloke with a pulse, straight or queer, would have to be mad not to want to give this one a go. Closing his eyes, he could picture her long, perfect legs wrapped around his waist; beads of sweat running down her neck, between her breasts, to her taut belly; her hair spread around her face like a nimbus.
He wondered what it would be like to have those full lips around his cock, to feel those strong fingers knead his flesh.
It had been so bloody long since he'd pulled.
I'm well in there, he thought smugly and opened his eyes.
"What?" Zoe asked.
"Nothing," said Sirius.
"Look," Zoe said in a tone that made Sirius's belly feel a little cold. "You're…amusing. And pretty damn cute. But you ain't…" She bit her bottom lip. "You ain't what I'm looking for. And to be honest, I ain't really looking for anything. Not for one night, not for-"
*
Dawn's Pony
Fandom: Buffy
Rating: PG
Ships: none
Notes: I honestly don't remember why I started writing this, but it was meant to take place between seasons Seven and Eight. I like Dawn here, but I didn't know where I wanted the story to go. Also, the kelpie started sounding like Spike in my head, and I didn't want that.
He was the most beautiful pony that Dawn had ever seen, sleek and silvery as a lake by night. She hugged her knees to her chest and watched quite calmly as he trotted toward her across the purple heather. He stopped about a foot from where she sat and lowered his neck invitingly. His mane was the color of storm clouds, and his ears looked soft as velvet. Dawn's fingers twitched with the desire to stroke those ears, but she kept her hands firmly on her knees.
After a few minutes, the pony lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes were big, shiny, and dark, like melted chocolate.
Dawn shook her head. "Sorry, not gonna work."
The pony tossed his head and his mane rippled and shone in the sunlight.
"I know you're a kelpie," Dawn said.
"I am not." The pony sounded indignant.
"You so totally are. I grew up near a Hellmouth. I know demons. And fairies. And other sorts of things."
"Fine." The pony shimmered, blurred, and became a slender young man. His skin was dark, silver-tinted, like a lake by night, and his black hair fell to his shoulders. His ears were slightly pointed at the tips. His clothes - blue jeans and a Rangers F.C. sweatshirt - were disappointingly normal.
"Well," he said as he sank to the ground beside Dawn, "I was going to take you for a ride across the glen, but no, you just had to be a clever little girl." His accent was Scottish and quite pleasant.
"I'm not little," Dawn said. "You were going to try to drown me." He started to protest. "You so were. You were going to carry me to the nearest lake and throw me in."
"Loch, and no, I was not."
"I've read stuff about kelpies." Buffy had made her do the research when they first got to Scotland. Xander had tried to make it fun for her, calling her Giles-in-training, but she'd known that Buffy was just being overprotective - as usual.
"And I've read stuff about girls," the kelpie said. "Doesn't make me an expert. Besides, do you see a loch anywhere?"
"No," Dawn admitted. "But that doesn't mean there isn't one. You'd have found one and-"
"I might've tossed you in, yeah," the kelpie said, picking a sprig of heather and twirling it between his fingers. His long fingernails had a sort of rainbow light, like fish scales. "Or I might have taken you on a journey that would have changed you forever. I might have taken you into the hollow hills, to my world."
He leaned toward her. She leaned away. "What are you doing?"
"Sniffing you."
"Why?"
He shrugged and pulled back. "You smell nice. Kind of…soft and…not natural. But nice."
"That's my lotion," Dawn said. "Sandalwood Rose. Actually, it's my sister's, but-"
He cut her off. "I hope you don't mind my saying this, but - you're not quite natural, are you? No offense."
"I don't know what you-" she stammered.
"Oh, I think you do. It's all right. I don't hold it against you. That's not the reason I tried to carry you off."
"Well…good."
"Do you want to know the reason?"
"I'm all helpless and alone?"
"Well, yes. And you're pretty."
He said it frankly, without a leer, but Dawn felt a thrill of alarm. She had a weapon in her pocket - a Swiss Army knife that Xander had given her - and she wondered if she could get it before the kelpie realized what she was doing. She wondered if the little knife would even be of any use. She'd never used it for anything except cutting through plastic CD wrappers and the string on bakery boxes. Besides, it wasn't cold iron. She couldn't remember if it had to be. She'd read enough to placate Buffy; she hadn't memorized everything.
"I'm not going to hurt you," the kelpie said, tossing the heather sprig aside. "If I'd wanted to, I'd have tried."
"You did try," Dawn pointed out.
"Well, I wanted to then. Now I think I'd rather sit and chat. You are pretty. Much too pretty to drown."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
The kelpie shrugged. "As you will."
*
Unicorn Dreams
Fandom: King's Quest
Rating: PG-13
Ships: none, although I can see it going Alexander/Rosella and that's one of the reasons I gave up because NO
Notes: I can't believe I wrote 3,000 words of a King's Quest story. I started after rediscovering the games this spring, and finding that ff.net had no KQ stories. (I don't know if it does now.) I had to remedy that. Only, I didn't. I kind of wrote myself into a corner here; Alexander is right to refuse to help, and Rosella isn't stupid enough to look elsewhere. Anyway, this begins very shortly after King's Quest 4.
It wasn't long after her return from Tamir that Princess Rosella began to dream about unicorns. For the first few nights, she was too exhausted from her journey and from relief at her father's reprieve from death to do more than fall against her pillow, and from there into oblivion until sunrise. But then the unicorns came one by one, their hoofs light as raindrops, their flanks silvery, their tails and manes streaming proudly behind them as they galloped. Their horns shimmered like the insides of seashells.
The dreams were comforting at first. Rosella did not speak of them, but took them as assurances of her father's continued improvement. She would smile at him when he wasn't looking and once, her brother, Alexander, caught her and took her aside and asked what it was she knew that no one else did.
"Oh, where to begin?" she said with a superior air, but then she pursed her lips and would not be persuaded to elaborate.
She began to look forward to bedtime and it was not long after this that the dreams began to change. At first, the unicorns had moved across Rosella's dreamscape as gaily as moonlight over water, delighting in the sweetness of speed. Now it seemed to her that they were running from something. There was sweat on their flanks. Their dark eyes rolled in their sockets, their nostrils flared, and the light of their horns flickered like the moon drifting behind clouds. She stumbled after them, alarmed and bewildered.
The first time Rosella found a dead unicorn, she snapped awake and all but fell out of bed, groping for her robe and the door handle. She hurried down the torch-lit corridors, her bare feet slapping the cold flagstones, her breath burning her lungs. The unicorn had been tangled in a golden bridle, its pink tongue lolling between slack lips, and dripping blood.
Rosella would have run all the way to her parents' suite, had she not been heard and overtaken by one of the night watchmen.
"Your Highness?" he said anxiously while she put her hand against the wall to brace herself, and struggled to find her voice. "Are you ill? Shall I summon a healer?"
"I'm fine," she gasped. "But my father-"
"Is well," said the watchman. "Or was when I saw him, not forty minutes ago. He was looking for his book. Couldn't remember where he'd left it. I helped him find it and saw him back to his rooms. Your Highness?"
"I want to see him," Rosella said. "Now." She clutched at her robe. She was so cold.
"Of course, Your Highness."
She continued swiftly, her heart pounding like the fall of hoofs, and the watchman trailed in silence. By the time she reached her parents' suite, there was a film of sweat on her brow, but she was still shivering and her feet were numb. She put out a hand to knock, but paused when she heard voices on the other side of the door.
"Darling," her mother said, sounding sleepy, "put out the light. It's after midnight."
"In a moment," her father answered. "I'm nearly done with this chapter."
"You said that twenty minutes ago."
Rosella stood in the shadowed doorway, her arm still extended, her fingers still curled. She was barely aware of the watchman behind her. She jumped when he cleared his throat.
"Never mind," she said, staring at the door. "I'll go back to my room now. Really," she insisted when he tried to offer her his cloak, "I'm fine. Just tired. Please don't tell anyone…"
She went back to her room, but she did not get back into bed. She sank into a chair by the window, drew her legs to her chest, and rested her chin on her knees. Looking out, she could see the moat shining in the moonlight like a silk ribbon. Beyond that lay the village, which was dark except for two or three lighted windows. The forest seemed a solid mass, and after that were the mountains. The highest peaks were snowcapped and looked, to her tired eyes, like dragon's teeth. She had once been uncomfortably close to dragon's teeth, she thought wryly, so she knew.
Alexander had climbed over the mountains and saved her from the dragon. He'd brewed up a magic storm and the lightning had struck the dragon dead.
Perhaps Alexander could help her now.
She toyed with the idea. For all he'd spent his first seventeen years as a wizard's slave, tucked away from the world, he was quite resourceful and thoughtful. It had been a little strange at first, acquiring a twin brother after so many years as an only child, but she did love and trust him.
But it would be cruel to burden him with her anxiety, she thought. At least, for now. He'd known so little peace, had taken their father's illness very hard. Even a week since the healers had declared the danger over, he seemed wary, overcautious, as if a word to forceful or a movement too sharp could shatter everything.
Oh, Alexander.
Rosella's eyelids began to droop. She fought half-heartedly. She did not want to sleep again and dream, but she was so tired.
Dragon's teeth. Unicorns.
There'd been that unicorn in Tamir, whom she'd delivered to the witch Lolotte in an effort to preserve her own life. She'd freed the unicorn after Lolotte's death - at Rosella's hand - and after that…
She cupped one hand, as if around a long, velvety nose. She could almost feel the hot puff of breath against her palm. She smiled, but it was a sad smile because after its release, the unicorn had wanted nothing more to do with her.
I can't blame it, she thought, and yawned.
Unicorns flashing against the dark sky like heat lightning. Rearing and plunging with a grace no horse had ever possessed. Horns piercing the clouds. Snared. Stumbling, falling, bones splintering, rent flesh, dead unicorns.
Rosella slept in her chair.
She was exhausted the next morning, but she tried to watch her father carefully over breakfast, and brushed aside all voiced concern for her own health. "I'm fine," she insisted, mashing berries with her spoon.
"You look tired, sweetheart," said her mother. "Didn't you sleep well?"
"No," she replied honestly, but left it at that.
Her father seemed to be in good spirits and good health. While Rosella twiddled her spoon between her fingers, he talked with gusto about the book he was reading, Quest for Glory, or something like that.
That night, Rosella dreamed of seashell-colored horns, hewn and bound together like kindling.
The next morning, before breakfast, she dressed quickly and went to see Ifankov the gnome.
Ifankov was not his real name, but the nearest any non-gnomish speaker could get, and he accepted it. Rosella found him on his porch swing, flexing his bare toes in the crisp morning air and puffing on his pipe. When he saw her, he raised his pipe in salutation, but he did not rise. As far as Rosella knew, Ifankov had never bowed to any human, peasant or royal, but he meant no disrespect, and neither the king nor the queen nor Rosella much cared. Obeisance still made Alexander uncomfortable, and so he in particular enjoyed the gnome's company.
"Lovely morning," Ifankov said around his pipe as Rosella drew closer. "One of the last before the frost. Can feel it in my toes. Hungry? There's bacon and eggs. Toast too, if you like. And beans. Perfectly normal, non-magical beans, which might be just as well, since you don't look fit to climb these porch stairs, never mind up to the clouds." He raised his smoky eyebrows.
"I'm not hungry," Rosella said, though her stomach twisted a little at his words. "I need to talk to you about these dreams I've been having. They're not…good dreams. And I'm afraid they mean something awful is going to happen. Or has happened. Or is happening. I don't know." She bit her lip.
Ifankov slid off the swing and sat heavily on the topmost stair. He patted the spot next to him. Rosella slumped.
"Now," he said. "Tell me."
She did, as best she could. It was hard because she was so tired and troubled, and, to her embarrassment, tears came when she reached the part about the golden bridle, and her nose began to drip. She swiped at it furiously with the back of her hand.
"There, there." Ifankov patted her shoulder. "It sounds dreadful, to be sure, but there's no sense in crying over dreams. The king's better, isn't he?"
"He is," Rosella sniffled, "but what if he falls ill again? What if that's what all this means?"
"Have you looked into the Magic Mirror?"
"Of course."
"Well?"
"Well, it didn't show me anything. Just my own face."
"That would be distressing," Ifankov said, not unkindly.
Rosella summoned a wan smile. "What if it's not my father?"
"That your dreams are trying to tell you about?"
"Yes."
"Dreams don't always mean things," Ifankov said. "Even bad, recurring ones. Sometimes things just stay in our minds, even after we've forgotten how they got there. Have you met any unicorns?"
"Yes," Rosella admitted. She looked at her hands.
"Did something bad happen to the unicorn you met?"
"Yes," she said softly. "And it was my fault. I mean, I let it go. But first I gave it to a witch. I suppose…the dreams could be about guilt. I do feel guilty. I didn't have a choice, really, but if you'd seen the poor thing being led away by Lolotte's men. They were awful. They had white faces like masks, and white hands, and bat wings." She twisted her fingers in her lap. "The poor unicorn. I don't know if Lolotte meant to kill it or just keep it a prisoner. Either way… It was my fault. I gave it to her."
"You don't think that might be a more likely source of your nightmares?"
"I suppose I do," said Rosella. "It's just…"
"What?"
"If my father's all right and I'm having nightmares because I feel guilty about the unicorn, I don't know what to do."
"I don't think there's much you can do," said Ifankov. "Tamir's very far from here. Very far."
"I know. I've no idea how I would get there. Someone got me there by magic the last time, but I've no idea how to contact her. I'm stuck. Even if I could get back to Tamir, I've no idea what I'd do. Do unicorns understand apologies? Would it even let me close enough? Would I even be able to find it again?" She looked at Ifankov.
He puffed thoughtfully on his pipe for a moment or two, then shrugged. "I do not know the answer to any of your questions. But I do think you're having nightmares because you're feeling bad about this unicorn. You said you didn't have a choice."
"I didn't."
"All right, then. There was nothing you could've done. You freed the thing when you had the chance. It's alive, you're alive, your father's alive. Forgive yourself."
Words bubbled behind Rosella's closed lips. She did not trust them, so she shook her head.
"Oh, it's all right if you do," Ifankov assured her. "You're noble, but you're human. And I'm not being insulting when I say that. No doubt you'll spend some more nights tossing and turning, but in the end you'll tell yourself that it all worked out for the best, and you'll be ready for your next adventure. After a good, long sleep."
Rosella lowered her eyes.
"Fine," said Ifankov with a sigh. "I can't help you. There are no elixirs for guilty consciences. But I'm not the only one you know who knows a bit of magic. Talk to your brother. Ask him about Sendings."
*
Breakfast was over by the time Rosella returned to the castle, so she went to the kitchens in search of something to eat and that was where she found her brother, being chased away from the sinks by a rag-wielding maid.
"She won't let me wash my own dishes," he said with a look of chagrin as he joined Rosella.
She took a clean plate, a red apple, a chunk of wheat bread, and a small wedge of cheese. "You're a prince, not a slave."
"She's not a slave, either."
"No, she gets paid."
"I feel a bit useless sometimes."
Rosella studied her brother's worry-full grey eyes and decided that she was entitled to a little teasing before she asked him for help. "You are a bit useless sometimes," she said with a sweet smile to negate the sting. "Do something princely. Write a ballad about your heroic deeds. Better yet, get someone to write it for you. Have a tournament. Find another princess to rescue."
Alexander's lips quirked as he took the apple from her plate. "Rescuing princesses isn't as rewarding as they lead you to believe."
Rosella made to swipe her apple back, but he tossed it casually into the air and there it remained, turning like a little green planet a few yards above their heads.
Rosella glanced at the maid, but she was engrossed in her scrubbing and either did not hear or was ignoring their exchange. She looked back at her brother. "I need to know about Sendings."
His smile faded at once and a crease appeared between his dark eyebrows. "No, you don't."
"I do, and I'll tell you why if you come with me." She waited.
"All right," he said after a brief silence. "I'll listen. Come on."
Rosella held out one hand, palm-up.
The apple fell into it with a smack.
"Sendings," Alexander said when they were in Rosella's bedroom, with the door closed, "are not something to be attempted lightly."
Perched on her bed, Rosella swallowed her mouthful of apple. "Why? Have you ever done one?"
"No. I've only read about them. They're difficult and dangerous. Even Manannan preferred not to. In the seventeen years I was his slave, I can only remember him Sending himself two or three times. It's not the same as teleporting. It's like…"
"What?" Rosella prompted. "Go on." She took another bite.
Alexander drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and looked at his knees. His lashes hid his eyes. "It's not the same as teleporting," he said again. "It's more like… Your body remains, but your soul travels to wherever you want to Send it - providing you cast the spell correctly. You're not severing the bond between body and soul, but you're stretching it. The farther you go, the more you stretch the bond, the harder it is. Wizards only Send when they have to talk to someone or observe something in a place that they can't get to by other means."
Rosella shivered. Her appetite suddenly gone, she put her apple down.
"You're not really in the place you Send yourself to," Alexander continued, his gaze still cast downward. "You have your senses - sort of. From what I understand, it's like being a ghost. You can look and hear, and I suppose the more powerful wizards can do more, but it's not like actually being in a place. Magical creatures are aware of your presence, but not normal people."
"A unicorn would be aware?" Rosella wondered aloud.
"Yes. Unicorns, fairies, leprechauns, certain types of witches, I think, anything under enchantment… And, of course, your body is vulnerable."
"How vulnerable?"
"Completely. That's why Manannan hardly ever did it." His lashes flicked, and Rosella caught the grey gleam of his eyes. "He didn't trust me. I'll never understand why he let me prepare his meals."
"I suppose," said Rosella, "being a wizard, he had antidotes to every poison you could get your hands on."
"True. And he thought I was too stupid to use his own spells against him."
"Can you Send me to Tamir?"
"I don't know." Alexander raised his head. "But that doesn't matter. I wouldn't, even if I could."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" He looked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted antennae. "Weren't you listening?"
"Yes." She had to fight to keep her voice steady.
"It's too dangerous."
"How is it dangerous? My body would stay here, wouldn't it? It would be perfectly safe."
Alexander rubbed his forehead with the heels of his palms. "Your body would be safe. But your soul would be…out there. It's dangerous."
In frustration and to hide her fear, Rosella slapped the edge of the bed. "How is it dangerous?"
"How do you think?"
"I don't know. I'm not a wizard. You are. Tell me."
"First of all," said Alexander sternly, "I'm not a wizard. I have cast a few spells-"
"Well enough to turn another wizard into a cat. And to turn yourself into an eagle," she cut in.
"That's different."
"How?"
He regarded her steadily. "Because it was me, not you."
"Meaning?"
His lashes twitched and his lips became a thin, pale line. Rosella looked at the window, but the flush of shame spread up her neck and across her cheeks and he would have to have been blind to miss it.
"Because," said Alexander softly, "when I was escaping Manannan, all I cared about was getting away. I was learning things about my past. What my real name was, who my parents were. But I didn't care. It didn't seem real, for one thing. I couldn't remember a day that didn't involve emptying Manannan's chamber pot, feeding the chickens, and scrubbing the floors. I was a prince? All I cared about was getting away. So, I risked everything. Many times."
"I'm sorry," Rosella said. "Forget I asked. Please."
"Why do you even want to go to Tamir?" The edge had left his voice; now he just sounded tired.
"It's not important," she said dully. "There's just something I really wanted to do and didn't get a chance to while I was there. Never mind."
"Does it have anything to do with that Edgar you talked about?"
"Edgar?" Rosella blinked. "No. What he did was very brave and helpful, but I haven't been thinking about him. It's… I betrayed someone's trust. A unicorn's. Everything worked out for the best, I suppose. I set it free as soon as I could. But I still hate that I did it. I wish I could do something, even if it's just apologizing."
"I wish I could help," Alexander said. "Maybe…"
"Yes?"
"Another spell I cast enabled me to understand the language of animals. After I turned Manannan into a cat, I wandered around Llewdor for a little while. I overheard a lot. Some of it was just inane chatter. But some… The chickens in Manannan's coop knew what they were for. I'd been eating scraps from Manannan's table for almost seventeen years. How do you think I felt, listening to what they said to one another? But they weren't interested in my apologies. They just wanted to be left alone. I think most animals do. They just want to do what they were made to do, and be left alone by us.
"This unicorn… It's very noble of you to want to apologize, but I don't think it would any difference.
Feedback still = ♥
Long Legs and Gorgeous Hair
Fandoms: Firefly & Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Ships: none, but would have been Sirius/Zoe, with Zoe/Wash and Sirius/Remus (post-Serenity, post-OotP)
Notes: Sirius falls through the Veil and reappears five hundred years in the future, on a planet that is not Earth. He's determined to find his way back to Earth and the Veil - providing it still exists. Unfortunately, Earth is currently populated by radioactive zombies, there are pirates after him, and he just met this really hot woman.
Sirius Black preferred cock, but even he couldn't help staring when she strode into the bar. He grabbed a few coins from his pocket, pushed them at the man seated next to him.
"I'll give you all this if you'll get out of here right now."
Sirius's gaze was still on the woman who'd just entered, but he felt the man seize the platinum and he heard he barstool rattle against the wooden planks as he made his exit.
"Oi," said Sirius to the bartender. "A drink for the lady. On me."
"I ain't no lady," the woman said as she slid onto the barstool beside Sirius. Light from the ceiling flashed against the pistol at her hip.
Cool, thought Sirius.
The woman, he learned over a few flagons of ale, was called Zoe and she was on shore leave. She flew on Serenity, captained by Malcolm Reynolds, beside whom she'd fought in the war. That was about all he could get out of her.
He, on the other hand, found himself babbling while she watched silently, her full, dark lips curved in an amused smile. He didn't tell her everything. Since that ancient archway had spat him into this bizarre future he'd learned that there were some things you simply did not say - I can do magic and I'm from Earth being two.
But he recounted some of his travels to her, told her how he'd ended up stranded on this backwater planet. He told her the last horrible joke he'd heard - the one about the pirate who had a wheel sticking out of his flies.
"You know the sort of wheel I mean," Sirius said, describing a circle with his hands, then pantomiming steering.
"I seen the kind of wheels you mean," Zoe said indulgently.
"Right, so. This pirate, he walks into a bar and the bartender, he points to the wheel sticking out of this pirate bloke's flies and he says, 'What's that?' And the pirate bloke, he says, 'It's driving me nuts!' Get it?"
"I get it." She sipped her ale. "You sure talk a lot."
Sirius shrugged. "It's to hide the fact that I'm actually painfully shy."
She cracked another small smile.
Merlin's beard, she was gorgeous. Like one of those Egyptian goddesses in the books Remus liked to read. Even the thought of Remus didn't cool him. Sirius really did prefer a good, thick cock up his arse, but any bloke with a pulse, straight or queer, would have to be mad not to want to give this one a go. Closing his eyes, he could picture her long, perfect legs wrapped around his waist; beads of sweat running down her neck, between her breasts, to her taut belly; her hair spread around her face like a nimbus.
He wondered what it would be like to have those full lips around his cock, to feel those strong fingers knead his flesh.
It had been so bloody long since he'd pulled.
I'm well in there, he thought smugly and opened his eyes.
"What?" Zoe asked.
"Nothing," said Sirius.
"Look," Zoe said in a tone that made Sirius's belly feel a little cold. "You're…amusing. And pretty damn cute. But you ain't…" She bit her bottom lip. "You ain't what I'm looking for. And to be honest, I ain't really looking for anything. Not for one night, not for-"
*
Dawn's Pony
Fandom: Buffy
Rating: PG
Ships: none
Notes: I honestly don't remember why I started writing this, but it was meant to take place between seasons Seven and Eight. I like Dawn here, but I didn't know where I wanted the story to go. Also, the kelpie started sounding like Spike in my head, and I didn't want that.
He was the most beautiful pony that Dawn had ever seen, sleek and silvery as a lake by night. She hugged her knees to her chest and watched quite calmly as he trotted toward her across the purple heather. He stopped about a foot from where she sat and lowered his neck invitingly. His mane was the color of storm clouds, and his ears looked soft as velvet. Dawn's fingers twitched with the desire to stroke those ears, but she kept her hands firmly on her knees.
After a few minutes, the pony lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes were big, shiny, and dark, like melted chocolate.
Dawn shook her head. "Sorry, not gonna work."
The pony tossed his head and his mane rippled and shone in the sunlight.
"I know you're a kelpie," Dawn said.
"I am not." The pony sounded indignant.
"You so totally are. I grew up near a Hellmouth. I know demons. And fairies. And other sorts of things."
"Fine." The pony shimmered, blurred, and became a slender young man. His skin was dark, silver-tinted, like a lake by night, and his black hair fell to his shoulders. His ears were slightly pointed at the tips. His clothes - blue jeans and a Rangers F.C. sweatshirt - were disappointingly normal.
"Well," he said as he sank to the ground beside Dawn, "I was going to take you for a ride across the glen, but no, you just had to be a clever little girl." His accent was Scottish and quite pleasant.
"I'm not little," Dawn said. "You were going to try to drown me." He started to protest. "You so were. You were going to carry me to the nearest lake and throw me in."
"Loch, and no, I was not."
"I've read stuff about kelpies." Buffy had made her do the research when they first got to Scotland. Xander had tried to make it fun for her, calling her Giles-in-training, but she'd known that Buffy was just being overprotective - as usual.
"And I've read stuff about girls," the kelpie said. "Doesn't make me an expert. Besides, do you see a loch anywhere?"
"No," Dawn admitted. "But that doesn't mean there isn't one. You'd have found one and-"
"I might've tossed you in, yeah," the kelpie said, picking a sprig of heather and twirling it between his fingers. His long fingernails had a sort of rainbow light, like fish scales. "Or I might have taken you on a journey that would have changed you forever. I might have taken you into the hollow hills, to my world."
He leaned toward her. She leaned away. "What are you doing?"
"Sniffing you."
"Why?"
He shrugged and pulled back. "You smell nice. Kind of…soft and…not natural. But nice."
"That's my lotion," Dawn said. "Sandalwood Rose. Actually, it's my sister's, but-"
He cut her off. "I hope you don't mind my saying this, but - you're not quite natural, are you? No offense."
"I don't know what you-" she stammered.
"Oh, I think you do. It's all right. I don't hold it against you. That's not the reason I tried to carry you off."
"Well…good."
"Do you want to know the reason?"
"I'm all helpless and alone?"
"Well, yes. And you're pretty."
He said it frankly, without a leer, but Dawn felt a thrill of alarm. She had a weapon in her pocket - a Swiss Army knife that Xander had given her - and she wondered if she could get it before the kelpie realized what she was doing. She wondered if the little knife would even be of any use. She'd never used it for anything except cutting through plastic CD wrappers and the string on bakery boxes. Besides, it wasn't cold iron. She couldn't remember if it had to be. She'd read enough to placate Buffy; she hadn't memorized everything.
"I'm not going to hurt you," the kelpie said, tossing the heather sprig aside. "If I'd wanted to, I'd have tried."
"You did try," Dawn pointed out.
"Well, I wanted to then. Now I think I'd rather sit and chat. You are pretty. Much too pretty to drown."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
The kelpie shrugged. "As you will."
*
Unicorn Dreams
Fandom: King's Quest
Rating: PG-13
Ships: none, although I can see it going Alexander/Rosella and that's one of the reasons I gave up because NO
Notes: I can't believe I wrote 3,000 words of a King's Quest story. I started after rediscovering the games this spring, and finding that ff.net had no KQ stories. (I don't know if it does now.) I had to remedy that. Only, I didn't. I kind of wrote myself into a corner here; Alexander is right to refuse to help, and Rosella isn't stupid enough to look elsewhere. Anyway, this begins very shortly after King's Quest 4.
It wasn't long after her return from Tamir that Princess Rosella began to dream about unicorns. For the first few nights, she was too exhausted from her journey and from relief at her father's reprieve from death to do more than fall against her pillow, and from there into oblivion until sunrise. But then the unicorns came one by one, their hoofs light as raindrops, their flanks silvery, their tails and manes streaming proudly behind them as they galloped. Their horns shimmered like the insides of seashells.
The dreams were comforting at first. Rosella did not speak of them, but took them as assurances of her father's continued improvement. She would smile at him when he wasn't looking and once, her brother, Alexander, caught her and took her aside and asked what it was she knew that no one else did.
"Oh, where to begin?" she said with a superior air, but then she pursed her lips and would not be persuaded to elaborate.
She began to look forward to bedtime and it was not long after this that the dreams began to change. At first, the unicorns had moved across Rosella's dreamscape as gaily as moonlight over water, delighting in the sweetness of speed. Now it seemed to her that they were running from something. There was sweat on their flanks. Their dark eyes rolled in their sockets, their nostrils flared, and the light of their horns flickered like the moon drifting behind clouds. She stumbled after them, alarmed and bewildered.
The first time Rosella found a dead unicorn, she snapped awake and all but fell out of bed, groping for her robe and the door handle. She hurried down the torch-lit corridors, her bare feet slapping the cold flagstones, her breath burning her lungs. The unicorn had been tangled in a golden bridle, its pink tongue lolling between slack lips, and dripping blood.
Rosella would have run all the way to her parents' suite, had she not been heard and overtaken by one of the night watchmen.
"Your Highness?" he said anxiously while she put her hand against the wall to brace herself, and struggled to find her voice. "Are you ill? Shall I summon a healer?"
"I'm fine," she gasped. "But my father-"
"Is well," said the watchman. "Or was when I saw him, not forty minutes ago. He was looking for his book. Couldn't remember where he'd left it. I helped him find it and saw him back to his rooms. Your Highness?"
"I want to see him," Rosella said. "Now." She clutched at her robe. She was so cold.
"Of course, Your Highness."
She continued swiftly, her heart pounding like the fall of hoofs, and the watchman trailed in silence. By the time she reached her parents' suite, there was a film of sweat on her brow, but she was still shivering and her feet were numb. She put out a hand to knock, but paused when she heard voices on the other side of the door.
"Darling," her mother said, sounding sleepy, "put out the light. It's after midnight."
"In a moment," her father answered. "I'm nearly done with this chapter."
"You said that twenty minutes ago."
Rosella stood in the shadowed doorway, her arm still extended, her fingers still curled. She was barely aware of the watchman behind her. She jumped when he cleared his throat.
"Never mind," she said, staring at the door. "I'll go back to my room now. Really," she insisted when he tried to offer her his cloak, "I'm fine. Just tired. Please don't tell anyone…"
She went back to her room, but she did not get back into bed. She sank into a chair by the window, drew her legs to her chest, and rested her chin on her knees. Looking out, she could see the moat shining in the moonlight like a silk ribbon. Beyond that lay the village, which was dark except for two or three lighted windows. The forest seemed a solid mass, and after that were the mountains. The highest peaks were snowcapped and looked, to her tired eyes, like dragon's teeth. She had once been uncomfortably close to dragon's teeth, she thought wryly, so she knew.
Alexander had climbed over the mountains and saved her from the dragon. He'd brewed up a magic storm and the lightning had struck the dragon dead.
Perhaps Alexander could help her now.
She toyed with the idea. For all he'd spent his first seventeen years as a wizard's slave, tucked away from the world, he was quite resourceful and thoughtful. It had been a little strange at first, acquiring a twin brother after so many years as an only child, but she did love and trust him.
But it would be cruel to burden him with her anxiety, she thought. At least, for now. He'd known so little peace, had taken their father's illness very hard. Even a week since the healers had declared the danger over, he seemed wary, overcautious, as if a word to forceful or a movement too sharp could shatter everything.
Oh, Alexander.
Rosella's eyelids began to droop. She fought half-heartedly. She did not want to sleep again and dream, but she was so tired.
Dragon's teeth. Unicorns.
There'd been that unicorn in Tamir, whom she'd delivered to the witch Lolotte in an effort to preserve her own life. She'd freed the unicorn after Lolotte's death - at Rosella's hand - and after that…
She cupped one hand, as if around a long, velvety nose. She could almost feel the hot puff of breath against her palm. She smiled, but it was a sad smile because after its release, the unicorn had wanted nothing more to do with her.
I can't blame it, she thought, and yawned.
Unicorns flashing against the dark sky like heat lightning. Rearing and plunging with a grace no horse had ever possessed. Horns piercing the clouds. Snared. Stumbling, falling, bones splintering, rent flesh, dead unicorns.
Rosella slept in her chair.
She was exhausted the next morning, but she tried to watch her father carefully over breakfast, and brushed aside all voiced concern for her own health. "I'm fine," she insisted, mashing berries with her spoon.
"You look tired, sweetheart," said her mother. "Didn't you sleep well?"
"No," she replied honestly, but left it at that.
Her father seemed to be in good spirits and good health. While Rosella twiddled her spoon between her fingers, he talked with gusto about the book he was reading, Quest for Glory, or something like that.
That night, Rosella dreamed of seashell-colored horns, hewn and bound together like kindling.
The next morning, before breakfast, she dressed quickly and went to see Ifankov the gnome.
Ifankov was not his real name, but the nearest any non-gnomish speaker could get, and he accepted it. Rosella found him on his porch swing, flexing his bare toes in the crisp morning air and puffing on his pipe. When he saw her, he raised his pipe in salutation, but he did not rise. As far as Rosella knew, Ifankov had never bowed to any human, peasant or royal, but he meant no disrespect, and neither the king nor the queen nor Rosella much cared. Obeisance still made Alexander uncomfortable, and so he in particular enjoyed the gnome's company.
"Lovely morning," Ifankov said around his pipe as Rosella drew closer. "One of the last before the frost. Can feel it in my toes. Hungry? There's bacon and eggs. Toast too, if you like. And beans. Perfectly normal, non-magical beans, which might be just as well, since you don't look fit to climb these porch stairs, never mind up to the clouds." He raised his smoky eyebrows.
"I'm not hungry," Rosella said, though her stomach twisted a little at his words. "I need to talk to you about these dreams I've been having. They're not…good dreams. And I'm afraid they mean something awful is going to happen. Or has happened. Or is happening. I don't know." She bit her lip.
Ifankov slid off the swing and sat heavily on the topmost stair. He patted the spot next to him. Rosella slumped.
"Now," he said. "Tell me."
She did, as best she could. It was hard because she was so tired and troubled, and, to her embarrassment, tears came when she reached the part about the golden bridle, and her nose began to drip. She swiped at it furiously with the back of her hand.
"There, there." Ifankov patted her shoulder. "It sounds dreadful, to be sure, but there's no sense in crying over dreams. The king's better, isn't he?"
"He is," Rosella sniffled, "but what if he falls ill again? What if that's what all this means?"
"Have you looked into the Magic Mirror?"
"Of course."
"Well?"
"Well, it didn't show me anything. Just my own face."
"That would be distressing," Ifankov said, not unkindly.
Rosella summoned a wan smile. "What if it's not my father?"
"That your dreams are trying to tell you about?"
"Yes."
"Dreams don't always mean things," Ifankov said. "Even bad, recurring ones. Sometimes things just stay in our minds, even after we've forgotten how they got there. Have you met any unicorns?"
"Yes," Rosella admitted. She looked at her hands.
"Did something bad happen to the unicorn you met?"
"Yes," she said softly. "And it was my fault. I mean, I let it go. But first I gave it to a witch. I suppose…the dreams could be about guilt. I do feel guilty. I didn't have a choice, really, but if you'd seen the poor thing being led away by Lolotte's men. They were awful. They had white faces like masks, and white hands, and bat wings." She twisted her fingers in her lap. "The poor unicorn. I don't know if Lolotte meant to kill it or just keep it a prisoner. Either way… It was my fault. I gave it to her."
"You don't think that might be a more likely source of your nightmares?"
"I suppose I do," said Rosella. "It's just…"
"What?"
"If my father's all right and I'm having nightmares because I feel guilty about the unicorn, I don't know what to do."
"I don't think there's much you can do," said Ifankov. "Tamir's very far from here. Very far."
"I know. I've no idea how I would get there. Someone got me there by magic the last time, but I've no idea how to contact her. I'm stuck. Even if I could get back to Tamir, I've no idea what I'd do. Do unicorns understand apologies? Would it even let me close enough? Would I even be able to find it again?" She looked at Ifankov.
He puffed thoughtfully on his pipe for a moment or two, then shrugged. "I do not know the answer to any of your questions. But I do think you're having nightmares because you're feeling bad about this unicorn. You said you didn't have a choice."
"I didn't."
"All right, then. There was nothing you could've done. You freed the thing when you had the chance. It's alive, you're alive, your father's alive. Forgive yourself."
Words bubbled behind Rosella's closed lips. She did not trust them, so she shook her head.
"Oh, it's all right if you do," Ifankov assured her. "You're noble, but you're human. And I'm not being insulting when I say that. No doubt you'll spend some more nights tossing and turning, but in the end you'll tell yourself that it all worked out for the best, and you'll be ready for your next adventure. After a good, long sleep."
Rosella lowered her eyes.
"Fine," said Ifankov with a sigh. "I can't help you. There are no elixirs for guilty consciences. But I'm not the only one you know who knows a bit of magic. Talk to your brother. Ask him about Sendings."
*
Breakfast was over by the time Rosella returned to the castle, so she went to the kitchens in search of something to eat and that was where she found her brother, being chased away from the sinks by a rag-wielding maid.
"She won't let me wash my own dishes," he said with a look of chagrin as he joined Rosella.
She took a clean plate, a red apple, a chunk of wheat bread, and a small wedge of cheese. "You're a prince, not a slave."
"She's not a slave, either."
"No, she gets paid."
"I feel a bit useless sometimes."
Rosella studied her brother's worry-full grey eyes and decided that she was entitled to a little teasing before she asked him for help. "You are a bit useless sometimes," she said with a sweet smile to negate the sting. "Do something princely. Write a ballad about your heroic deeds. Better yet, get someone to write it for you. Have a tournament. Find another princess to rescue."
Alexander's lips quirked as he took the apple from her plate. "Rescuing princesses isn't as rewarding as they lead you to believe."
Rosella made to swipe her apple back, but he tossed it casually into the air and there it remained, turning like a little green planet a few yards above their heads.
Rosella glanced at the maid, but she was engrossed in her scrubbing and either did not hear or was ignoring their exchange. She looked back at her brother. "I need to know about Sendings."
His smile faded at once and a crease appeared between his dark eyebrows. "No, you don't."
"I do, and I'll tell you why if you come with me." She waited.
"All right," he said after a brief silence. "I'll listen. Come on."
Rosella held out one hand, palm-up.
The apple fell into it with a smack.
"Sendings," Alexander said when they were in Rosella's bedroom, with the door closed, "are not something to be attempted lightly."
Perched on her bed, Rosella swallowed her mouthful of apple. "Why? Have you ever done one?"
"No. I've only read about them. They're difficult and dangerous. Even Manannan preferred not to. In the seventeen years I was his slave, I can only remember him Sending himself two or three times. It's not the same as teleporting. It's like…"
"What?" Rosella prompted. "Go on." She took another bite.
Alexander drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and looked at his knees. His lashes hid his eyes. "It's not the same as teleporting," he said again. "It's more like… Your body remains, but your soul travels to wherever you want to Send it - providing you cast the spell correctly. You're not severing the bond between body and soul, but you're stretching it. The farther you go, the more you stretch the bond, the harder it is. Wizards only Send when they have to talk to someone or observe something in a place that they can't get to by other means."
Rosella shivered. Her appetite suddenly gone, she put her apple down.
"You're not really in the place you Send yourself to," Alexander continued, his gaze still cast downward. "You have your senses - sort of. From what I understand, it's like being a ghost. You can look and hear, and I suppose the more powerful wizards can do more, but it's not like actually being in a place. Magical creatures are aware of your presence, but not normal people."
"A unicorn would be aware?" Rosella wondered aloud.
"Yes. Unicorns, fairies, leprechauns, certain types of witches, I think, anything under enchantment… And, of course, your body is vulnerable."
"How vulnerable?"
"Completely. That's why Manannan hardly ever did it." His lashes flicked, and Rosella caught the grey gleam of his eyes. "He didn't trust me. I'll never understand why he let me prepare his meals."
"I suppose," said Rosella, "being a wizard, he had antidotes to every poison you could get your hands on."
"True. And he thought I was too stupid to use his own spells against him."
"Can you Send me to Tamir?"
"I don't know." Alexander raised his head. "But that doesn't matter. I wouldn't, even if I could."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" He looked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted antennae. "Weren't you listening?"
"Yes." She had to fight to keep her voice steady.
"It's too dangerous."
"How is it dangerous? My body would stay here, wouldn't it? It would be perfectly safe."
Alexander rubbed his forehead with the heels of his palms. "Your body would be safe. But your soul would be…out there. It's dangerous."
In frustration and to hide her fear, Rosella slapped the edge of the bed. "How is it dangerous?"
"How do you think?"
"I don't know. I'm not a wizard. You are. Tell me."
"First of all," said Alexander sternly, "I'm not a wizard. I have cast a few spells-"
"Well enough to turn another wizard into a cat. And to turn yourself into an eagle," she cut in.
"That's different."
"How?"
He regarded her steadily. "Because it was me, not you."
"Meaning?"
His lashes twitched and his lips became a thin, pale line. Rosella looked at the window, but the flush of shame spread up her neck and across her cheeks and he would have to have been blind to miss it.
"Because," said Alexander softly, "when I was escaping Manannan, all I cared about was getting away. I was learning things about my past. What my real name was, who my parents were. But I didn't care. It didn't seem real, for one thing. I couldn't remember a day that didn't involve emptying Manannan's chamber pot, feeding the chickens, and scrubbing the floors. I was a prince? All I cared about was getting away. So, I risked everything. Many times."
"I'm sorry," Rosella said. "Forget I asked. Please."
"Why do you even want to go to Tamir?" The edge had left his voice; now he just sounded tired.
"It's not important," she said dully. "There's just something I really wanted to do and didn't get a chance to while I was there. Never mind."
"Does it have anything to do with that Edgar you talked about?"
"Edgar?" Rosella blinked. "No. What he did was very brave and helpful, but I haven't been thinking about him. It's… I betrayed someone's trust. A unicorn's. Everything worked out for the best, I suppose. I set it free as soon as I could. But I still hate that I did it. I wish I could do something, even if it's just apologizing."
"I wish I could help," Alexander said. "Maybe…"
"Yes?"
"Another spell I cast enabled me to understand the language of animals. After I turned Manannan into a cat, I wandered around Llewdor for a little while. I overheard a lot. Some of it was just inane chatter. But some… The chickens in Manannan's coop knew what they were for. I'd been eating scraps from Manannan's table for almost seventeen years. How do you think I felt, listening to what they said to one another? But they weren't interested in my apologies. They just wanted to be left alone. I think most animals do. They just want to do what they were made to do, and be left alone by us.
"This unicorn… It's very noble of you to want to apologize, but I don't think it would any difference.