Dresden Files Fluff for Puck
There's one or two other Valentine's Day ficlets I want to write, but then I'll be devoting my time to Mardi Gras. Because I must spread New Orleans culture like a virus.
Anyways, Puck gave me Storm Front back at Christmas, and I've been steadily reading my way through the series ever since. Need to catch up on the television episodes, but I'm really loving this series.
Title: Letter From Exile
Fandom: Dresden Files (books)
Words: 847
Rating: G
Summary: Harry gets an unexpected delivery one morning. Fluff.
Author's Note: Spoilers for up through 'Blood Rites'. Writing this without any of the novels on-hand, so my characterization is probably off. Any pointers would be much appreciated.
Harry woke up to a brisk knocking on his door. What he was listening to didn't register right away. Most of what did register was that he was warm and comfortable and Mister had killed the circulation to his right arm. From the tingling in his legs, Mouse had only departed a little while ago.
The knocking continued. He really ought to get up and do something about that. With that in mind, Harry wriggled his arm out from under Mister and rolled out of bed. The grey tomcat glared at him balefully as he pulled on a pair of pants. The shield bracelet slid down his wrist as he reached for a not too disreputable shirt. He paused as one of the heat-warped charms settled against his wrist - fire and Mavra, fire and Bianca, fire and Susan.
The knocking stopped, then whoever it was started pounding on the door. Harry shot a dirty look in that direction and pulled his shirt on. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold your horses."
Harry crossed the living room in the dark, reaching out to feel his wards. None of them were the slightest bit disturbed; whoever was out there had no magic. Of course, a gun would kill him just as well as a blast of power.
He checked the peep-hole carefully, just in case someone was looking back through it. No such bad luck - the uniformed man outside seemed to be concentrating utterly on trying to wear a hole in his door.
Harry drew back and readied a shield. It might be paranoid, but there were a lot of people who wanted him dead. He wouldn't past one of them finally taking the direct approach.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. "What's the problem?"
The man drew back and straightened himself. Cradled in the arm that hadn't been propelling a fist against his door was a long floral box and a smaller box with a ribbon. The man also held a clipboard in that hand. Delivery guy then. Maybe. "Are you Harry Dresden?"
No hint that this guy had heard anything about him being a wizard. Interesting.
"That's me."
The delivery guy handed him the clipboard. "Sign here. Got an order for one dozen Black Magic roses with detached note, and a special delivery of this other box. For some guy named Bob," he added.
Harry tried not to jerk visibly at the name of the flowers. Just a weird name for some specific color of roses. Elaine had explained it to him once, when she was hinting strongly that he should get her a few roses for Valentine's Day. He hadn't gotten her any, as he recalled, and so hadn't gotten any for a month.
He scrawled out the mess that looked like, but wasn't quite, his signature and handed the clipboard back to the deliveryman. In turn, he got handed the long floral box, the smaller box, and a plain envelope with his name written in a naggingly familiar handwriting.
Harry shut the door with his foot, dropped the small box on one of his end-tables to deal with later, and wandered out to the kitchen with the floral box. A dozen roses. Who'd sent him a dozen roses? And did he really want to open them?
Well, the note was probably the first place to start. He set the floral box down on the counter and ran a scry spell over the letter. Nothing turned up on the magical side, and all it felt like to his hands was paper. Still, better safe than sorry. He pulled his letter-opener, pure cold iron, out of his knife-rack and carefully cut open the seal of the envelope.
Nothing. He speared the note inside on his letter-opener and drew it out slowly, making sure nothing that might be contained within was spilled. Another quick scrying spell revealed that it was just paper and ink. Same with the envelope with the addition of a bit of glue to seal it.
He set the note on the counter, still unopened and dropped the envelope into his trashcan. Burning it might release something, while leaving it there meant the brownies would take care of it.
He unfolded the note and a sad smile spread over his face.
Harry,
I wish I could be there with you. It's probably snowing up there, just a dusting in the streets, making the world more magical than miserable. The cold is sharp and crisp, so people bundle up in their coats, and you've got your leather duster pulled tight when you go outside.
Your phone's probably ringing off the hook from people who want love potions and hope you'll make an exception just for them.
I wish I could be there.
- Susan
He set the note down and turned to the floral box. All right. Roses. What was he going to do with a dozen roses? He didn't exactly keep vases around.
Then his gaze fell on the sixpack of empty Coca-Cola bottles sitting next to the trashcan, and he grinned.
End
Anyways, Puck gave me Storm Front back at Christmas, and I've been steadily reading my way through the series ever since. Need to catch up on the television episodes, but I'm really loving this series.
Title: Letter From Exile
Fandom: Dresden Files (books)
Words: 847
Rating: G
Summary: Harry gets an unexpected delivery one morning. Fluff.
Author's Note: Spoilers for up through 'Blood Rites'. Writing this without any of the novels on-hand, so my characterization is probably off. Any pointers would be much appreciated.
Harry woke up to a brisk knocking on his door. What he was listening to didn't register right away. Most of what did register was that he was warm and comfortable and Mister had killed the circulation to his right arm. From the tingling in his legs, Mouse had only departed a little while ago.
The knocking continued. He really ought to get up and do something about that. With that in mind, Harry wriggled his arm out from under Mister and rolled out of bed. The grey tomcat glared at him balefully as he pulled on a pair of pants. The shield bracelet slid down his wrist as he reached for a not too disreputable shirt. He paused as one of the heat-warped charms settled against his wrist - fire and Mavra, fire and Bianca, fire and Susan.
The knocking stopped, then whoever it was started pounding on the door. Harry shot a dirty look in that direction and pulled his shirt on. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold your horses."
Harry crossed the living room in the dark, reaching out to feel his wards. None of them were the slightest bit disturbed; whoever was out there had no magic. Of course, a gun would kill him just as well as a blast of power.
He checked the peep-hole carefully, just in case someone was looking back through it. No such bad luck - the uniformed man outside seemed to be concentrating utterly on trying to wear a hole in his door.
Harry drew back and readied a shield. It might be paranoid, but there were a lot of people who wanted him dead. He wouldn't past one of them finally taking the direct approach.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. "What's the problem?"
The man drew back and straightened himself. Cradled in the arm that hadn't been propelling a fist against his door was a long floral box and a smaller box with a ribbon. The man also held a clipboard in that hand. Delivery guy then. Maybe. "Are you Harry Dresden?"
No hint that this guy had heard anything about him being a wizard. Interesting.
"That's me."
The delivery guy handed him the clipboard. "Sign here. Got an order for one dozen Black Magic roses with detached note, and a special delivery of this other box. For some guy named Bob," he added.
Harry tried not to jerk visibly at the name of the flowers. Just a weird name for some specific color of roses. Elaine had explained it to him once, when she was hinting strongly that he should get her a few roses for Valentine's Day. He hadn't gotten her any, as he recalled, and so hadn't gotten any for a month.
He scrawled out the mess that looked like, but wasn't quite, his signature and handed the clipboard back to the deliveryman. In turn, he got handed the long floral box, the smaller box, and a plain envelope with his name written in a naggingly familiar handwriting.
Harry shut the door with his foot, dropped the small box on one of his end-tables to deal with later, and wandered out to the kitchen with the floral box. A dozen roses. Who'd sent him a dozen roses? And did he really want to open them?
Well, the note was probably the first place to start. He set the floral box down on the counter and ran a scry spell over the letter. Nothing turned up on the magical side, and all it felt like to his hands was paper. Still, better safe than sorry. He pulled his letter-opener, pure cold iron, out of his knife-rack and carefully cut open the seal of the envelope.
Nothing. He speared the note inside on his letter-opener and drew it out slowly, making sure nothing that might be contained within was spilled. Another quick scrying spell revealed that it was just paper and ink. Same with the envelope with the addition of a bit of glue to seal it.
He set the note on the counter, still unopened and dropped the envelope into his trashcan. Burning it might release something, while leaving it there meant the brownies would take care of it.
He unfolded the note and a sad smile spread over his face.
Harry,
I wish I could be there with you. It's probably snowing up there, just a dusting in the streets, making the world more magical than miserable. The cold is sharp and crisp, so people bundle up in their coats, and you've got your leather duster pulled tight when you go outside.
Your phone's probably ringing off the hook from people who want love potions and hope you'll make an exception just for them.
I wish I could be there.
- Susan
He set the note down and turned to the floral box. All right. Roses. What was he going to do with a dozen roses? He didn't exactly keep vases around.
Then his gaze fell on the sixpack of empty Coca-Cola bottles sitting next to the trashcan, and he grinned.
End