First sporkage of the New Year
His Guardian Angel, or, The Triumph Of Caesar
by Eroica
It’s bad enough you have to rape my fandom, but did you have to do it under the penname Eroica?
Disclaimer - I do not own Eroica, his copyright, his heart, his soul, his body or at least his wardrobe, in spite of numerous desperate deals with the devil to achieve this end.
I think Aioke-san should sue your ass anyway.
CHAPTER ONE
Earl Dorian Red Gloria, a.k.a. Eroica, sat at the window of his villa in Italy.
This tells me already that you don’t know canon. He always introduces himself as Dorian Red Gloria, Earl of Gloria.
It was summer.
What was the weather forecast?
The white roses in his garden reminded him of someone who he hadn’t seen for a long time.
That’s WHOM he had not seen.
The thorns put him in mind of someone else who kept cropping up with a much more frequency.
With a what?
Caesar and Klaus, respectively.
That’s wimpy, weepy!Uke and repressed Uber-Alpha male, respectively. Which to choose…?
“Shall I ever see either of them again?” He wondered aloud.
*groan*
He sighed, and rested his chin on his delicate white hand.
Let’s not get into ethic backgrounds, shall we? He’s English.
The rubies on his fingers flashed in the sunlight, and his gold bracelets jangled.
What rubies? He wears a single gold band on his right hand, and sometimes bracelets.
He was youthful and possessed of positively divine good looks; not to mention dress-sense.
No, let’s not mention his dress sense. Dorian’s taste in clothes is the pits.
His deep blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and liveliness. He dressed flamboyantly, and had long, luxuriant gold curls. His mouth was peony pink.
I think I may throw up.
Today, he was restless. He’d been here a month already, on what James insisted was a much-needed vacation.
Since when does James insist on vacations? He hates to spend money.
Rest was all very well, the earl decided, but boredom was another thing entirely. What he needed was not a vacation. It was an adventure.
Now there’s a shock.
“Something really challenging,” he murmured aloud. “Let it involve a priceless work of art, an exotic locale, and true love, or at least a decent summer fling.”
Dorian, are you reading a brochure?
He tried to think of a masterpiece that he desired that he didn’t own yet. Something magical, something majestic. Something that had stood the test of time and become all the more beautiful for its aging. Something full of mystery.
Something the author has to look up on the internet…
Aha! He had it.
Where’s the Major so I can ask him to track down this author and shoot them?
“James!” He shouted, and drummed his slender fingers on the windowsill.
I think those should be in two separate sentences.
His perpetually sniveling accountant, James, scurried in, a calculator in one hand an a checkbook in the other. “Yes, Earl?”
Sniveling? Now, I despise James, but I would never describe him in this manner.
“We’re going to be cutting our vacation short, James,” the Earl said imperiously. “And embarking on another heist.
Heist? Where is the romance in that?
Some amount of travel will be involved. On the way, be sure to arrange for a stopover in London.”
When did James become the travel planner? I thought that was Bonham's job.
“LONDON?” James shrilled.
*groan* Is that even a word?
The Earl watched him impassively and with a detached amusement as he turned bright red and sputtered incoherantly for several minutes.
He’s not the only one.
James had an allergic reaction to London.
Oh, please!
He had become sensitized several years ago at the same time that his adored Earl had fallen deeply in love with a certain beautiful art professor who resided there.
And then ditched in favor of the Major, because he isn’t a total wuss.
“If this is about that boy you like so much. . .” He said finally.
Of course it is. Didn’t you read the title?
“Not at all, James,” the Earl said amusedly. “It has more to do with you.”
Yeah, right.
“Really?” James looked up in hope.
That this fic would be over soon.
The Earl smiled radiantly. “Yes. London suits you, James.”
With all the pollution, soot and all.
“You think so?” Was this a compliment? James was ecstatic.
Really, James! You’re not that thick!
The Earl nodded, and looked at him coyly from under his lashes. “It makes you turn such an attractive shade of green.”
Why would Dorian be cruel when he’s trying to get James to go along with him
He smirked as James sulked, and rose to pace around the room.
Wait, what? Who rose and paced? James?
He was tall, slender and well-muscled, with the physique of a Greek God.
Since when?
Insanely good looking. It was unfair, really. Everything about Eroica was unfair.
No, everything about him is ABOUT HIM! He’s a self-centered narcissist!
Half of all the people he met fell in love with him, and he himself became smitten with the other half. He was rich, aristocratic, and brilliant. And he was the most successful art thief in Europe.
We really don’t need this half-assed bio, here.
His tone grew sharper.
Muscle tone? Oh, voice tone. I was / is / am confused.
“We will stop in London, James, to pick up a contact I need in order to succeed in snaring our latest prey. We will continue with him to France. There we will attempt a robbery of the Louvre.”
You know, last time I looked, Dorian knew how to use contractions.
“The Louvre?” James nearly fainted at the idea of it. “But that would be almost impossible!”
Why? They’ve done it before.
“I always get what I want, James,” the Earl snapped.
With the possible exception of the “Man in Purple.” And the Achilles. And the Buddha. And…oh yes, the Major.
“And in this case, I want absolute triumph. I want a symbol that will show the whole world how I overcame. I want the Victory of Samothrace!”
Overcame what?
James stared at him for a minute, and sniveled. He went out whimpering and muttering under his breath. “It’s an eight foot tall statue. How is he going to steal an eight foot tall marble statue?”
The same way he’s stolen all the others, you moron!
The Earl’s lips curved up into a smile.
Sounds more like he’s sneering.
* * * * * * *
In London, at the German embassy. . .
There were Germans and stuff. And it should be the WEST German embassy unless this is post October 3, 1990, which I seriously doubt.
Professor Caesar Gabriel woke in a cold sweat.
He realized he was in this fic. Wait…what’s he doing at the West German embassy again?
He gave a sharp gasp and blinked his huge blue eyes. Hard. The nightmare images faded. It was only a dream.
I wish this were only a dream.
The moon smiled in through his window, its silvery light falling on his beautiful face.
Spare me.
For the sake of the fan girls reading, I will describe him in delicious detail.
Why? If they’re fan!girls, they’ll already know what the wimp looks like.
Image Orlando Bloom as Legolas, only prettier. Much prettier.
What if I don’t know who Orlando Bloom is? Now I’m screwed because you are so totally useless in descriptions.
With his lips a sweeter pink, his eyes a blue more periwinkle and his hair a whiter blonde. He was also considerably more intelligent-looking.
Poor Legolas.
Traces of yesterday’s mascara clung to his long lashes.
Mascara! Caesar? What manga have you been reading?
He was wearing floral PJs. Scratch that. For the sake of the fan girls, he was wearing nothing at all.
Even though he’s a virginal male who finds posing for a statue-clothed-to be indecent.
He rose, and draped a silk kimono around his rather thin shoulders.
Oh, I see. Since the manga is Japanese, we’ll assume an Englishman will give a kimono as a gift, right?
The robe had a brocade pattern of roses. It had been a gift, left on his windowsill six months ago with a note reading, “From Eroica, With Love.”
It couldn’t’ve been from Dorian. It sounds too conservative.
The soft touch of the silk against his skin made him recall his recent dream. He frowned, almost pouted, and wrinkled up his high forehead.
Aw, isn’t he just so cute when he’s out of character?
It had contained the Earl, but that has been in only good thing about.
Um, come again?
It didn’t make up for the rest of the dream at all. His heart beat faster as he remembered it. Dorian had been in grave danger- - terrible danger!
And probably loving every minute of it! Wait, when did Caesar start calling him by name?
And, Caesar’s blood boiled at the thought, he’d been with another man!
Does Caesar even have the capacity to have his blood boil?
His fingers curled into fists, and he stared at them in surprise, unused to this violent reaction in himself.
See! He’s been hanging around the Major too long. He’s starting to act like a man and not a total pussy.
He forced himself to think rationally.
I am not touching that one.
Ever since he and his friends Sugar and Leopard had experienced a close brush with death as kids and been saved by a wierd old man, they had all been gifted with telepathy and other extraordinary powers.
You know, the fan!girls in the audience will know this already.
Even after all the years they’d had them, they still weren’t exactly sure how they worked.
I’m still not exactly sure how the hammerspace works, but I accept it.
He paced. Sugar could see the future. Could he?
No. Next question.
Could the dream be a premonition? If so, he couldn’t let it happen. He had to do something.
How about suicide?
His heart shuddered at the idea of danger, and he balked.
Well, a least that part is canon.
But then he thought of Dorian’s scream, of Dorian in pain.
Wait, I thought you said he was in danger. Now he’s being tortured. Are we jumping ahead just a tad?
He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let the other part of the dream come true, either- - the one with another man in it.
*groan* Okay, enough angst, okay!
If he thought hard, it seemed to him that the man might be someone he knew. Someone muscular and dark-haired. Leopard? No. . .
Gad! You’re in the West German embassy, for Christ's sake! Hmm, who do I know from Germany with long hair…?
He shook his head at himself in the mirror.
And fell down laughing.
“No,” he whispered, “It can’t be.”
Cue the suspenseful organ music!
* * * * * * * * *
Major Klaus Heinz Vom Dem Eberbach was, as always, a man with a mission.
He’s also a man who likes his name spelled correctly. That’s von dem, lower case.
He was at his happiest when he had direct orders to carry out. And his task this time delighted him in particular.
No, he’s at his happiest when he’s shouting, beating the crap out of somebody, or going back to Germany. Let’s get this straight.
He’d had a grudge against Earl Dorian Red Gloria ever since the audacious nobleman had stolen both a valuable painting
A valuable painting? Do you mean “The Man In Purple” that belongs to the Major?
and a very nice tank from under the Major’s nose.
Let’s be fair. Dorian did gave back the painting when he stole the tank.
What a good thing that his next assignment entailed tracking down Eroica himself,
He’s looking forward to this? Great. We start out immediately with OutOfCharacter!Klaus.
as NATO had developed suspicions that he might be working as an international spy, using his persona as an art thief as an excuse to move around quickly and preserve his anonymity.
Whaaaaa?
Stupid theory, of course.
Resists urge to shoot author of fic. Barely.
He didn’t believe it for a minute. But it served his purposes just fine.
And his purposes are…?
Dressed in tasteful but very bland civilian garb
Poor Klaus. Everyone else's outfits get a paragraph, he gets half a sentence. So much for playing to the fan!girls.
as he made his way down the London street, the Major still couldn’t help but look like a soldier. His dark hair was longer than regulation, perhaps, coming down to the tops of his muscular shoulders.
*eye roll*
But his eyes were the gray of bullets.
What! His eyes are green! The color of the Mosel wine bottle, remember!
His lean, handsome features were smooth as steel.
Iron! He’s Iron Klaus, dammit!
Not a hint of stubble marred his perfect jaw. A cigarette hung perpetually from the corner of his mouth.
You forgot to tell us about the .44 Magnum he normally carries in a shoulder holster. What an oversight!
(We have now established the physical appearance and whatever personality traits are necessary at this juncture for our leading men to actually possess.
Yeah, right. But then, anyone interested in reading this would already KNOW what they looked like.
Since this is, indeed, a shameless slash fic, it would be redundant to add that they will become the three points of a melodramatic and needlessly messy gay love triangle at some point or other.
But you’re going to say it anyway.
But more of that later.)
Thanks for the warning.
Right now, Klaus was headed for the first destination of his mission. He didn’t even have to leave the city to meet this contact.
Which is good, since you have him on foot. Where’s his Mercedes? Or at worst, a BMW.
She was a young woman, possibly telepathic, who was sometimes mentioned in Caesar’s ill-concealed and often very heartsick diary.
What diary?
Her name was Sugar Plum.
And we’re going to hear all about her, aren’t we?
Sugar was to be found, at this hour as at any other, in her home reading idiotic manga cartoons, or else painting.
Despite the fact that Japanese manga were virtually unheard of in Europe in the 1970s.
Today, it was the manga. She lay on her stomach on the couch, propped up on her elbows, drinking hot chocolate and fantasizing about hand-drawn heroes with lots of luxuriant hair (rather like the readers of this story are currently doing).
Please! Was she eating Bon-Bons from a heart-shaped box?
She looked up and smiled when Klaus came in.
Without knocking.
She had a nice face surrounded by a cloud of curly hair. Klaus was both disappointed and relieved to discover he had no romantic feelings for our heroine whatsoever.
Although this could be entirely due to the fact that women give him the creeps.
“Major Klaus Heinz Vom Dem Eberbach,” he introduced himself.
Thank you for stating the obvious.
Sugar managed not to giggle and blush. He looked exactly like a manga guy.
Oh, dear lord, kill me know.
But he was here on business. She smiled shyly. “Please sit down. Would you like some hot cocoa?”
Hot cocoa?
“Mein Gott, no,” Klaus said bluntly.
Thank you, Major.
Sugar decided not to like him after all.
I’m sure the Major will be relieved to know this. He dislikes everyone as a matter of course.
His cigarette was stinking up the room, anyway. “You need information tracking down Eroica?” she asked.
And she knows this how? Did she read ahead?
He nodded. “I might. I think you know something.”
Major, aren’t you in the least bit curious how she knows about your mission?
She shrugged. “I might.” She remembered to be a hard bargainer. Mama had warned her against being too generous.
Oh, cripes!
“What’s in it for me?”
You get to see the Major pretend he’s a gentleman. Worth its weight in gold, that is!
Klaus crossed his legs and his arms.
And promptly fell over, since he was still standing.
“Possibly a very sizeable reward.”
Yeah, right. You lie like a dog, Major.
Sugar bit her lip. “I’m not interested in a reward,” she admitted. “The Earl did something terrible to a friend of mine, once.”
And the Major didn’t?
The Major smirked in an odd way.
No, he’s grimacing because he’s in this fic.
It made her suspicious. She did a quick mental scan on him, and recoiled visibly.
When did she get this power?
“How did you know that already?” she cried aloud.
Know what already?
Klaus smiled. “You must be reading my mind. I met him.”
And you should know that because the wimp was whining to you and Leopard the whole time.
Sugar thought a lot of dirty words at herself.
As opposed to thinking them to someone else. No, wait, I guess she could actually do that.
How could she have slipped up like that and let the Major guess at her powers?
Oh, please!
She went into his thoughts more deeply. “Good,” she exhaled, “you aren’t going to test me for being telepathic or anything like that.”
Now, the manga went into excruciating detail about the fact that these three losers can only use the ESP on one another. So how is she able to read the Major’s mind?
“I won’t even let NATO know,” Klaus promised.
But he had his fingers crossed behind his back, so it didn’t count.
Sugar bit her lip. It was time they got back at Dorian Red Gloria.
Why? He gave you the little twirp back. No, wait. That’s reason enough in my book.
“I’m in,” she said.
*monotone* Hurrah!
Klaus nodded curtly. “I thought you would come around.”
*eye roll* Major, why aren’t you the least bit worried that someone can read your mind?
“What’s next?” she asked him.
Who else is there to ask!
Klaus fixed her a stare.
On the rocks with a twist.
“That’s partly for you to decide.
To decide what?
My sources say he’s in Italy. Once there, I’m relying on you to help us locate him exactly.”
Since when does Iron Klaus need the help of a civilian teenager to track down anyone?
“My powers don’t stretch very far.”
Try calling the psychic hotline.
“We’ll see. They’re better than nothing.” Klaus stood and excused himself.
Leaving the fic entirely.
Once outside, he paused and lit up another cigarette. Excellent. Things were all going according to his agenda.
My evil plan is coming together nicely…
Soon he’d be in Italy, and he’d see Dorian again- - no, catch him again, he corrected himself.
*groan* Come on! This is the repressed Major, here!
He suppressed a very strange shiver of anticipation.
Gah! I’m getting the Major’s Goosebumps!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dorian lounged gorgeously against a pillar, looking exquisitely bored.
Was he an Oak, Maple or Mahogany board?
He would never, ever, in a million years have accepted an invitation to this torturously dull party if not for the fact that he had been informed that Caesar would be there.
Why is the party dull, Dorian? You’re there.
He suppressed a yawn with an elegantly gloved hand.
Must be reading this fic.
“The things I do for love,” he muttered.
*groan* You’re a narcissistic, self-centered aristocrat, remember?
A soft stroke of pale gold at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned with his heart skipping. It was, indeed, Caesar’s platinum hair that he had seen. He took in the sight of the boy with delight.
Excuse me while I throw up.
“You’ve grown even more beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes soft as a summer sky.
His eyes soft as what? Are you getting this crap from a Harlequin romance?
Caesar, not seeing him, had within a moment moved away and mingled again with the crowd.
How the hell can you miss Dorian? He stands out like a sore thumb? Unless this is a costume party, then...
Dorian followed, desperately trying not to lose sight of his target.
Like that’s possible for someone his height.
* * * * * * * * *
As they stepped aboard the plane, Sugar got a very strange feeling that they were going in exactly the opposite direction they should be.
*groan* Use the Force, Luke. Whoops, sorry. Wrong fandom.
She caught hold of the Major’s arm. Klaus instinctively stiffened and pulled away, then made himself relax. She was just a girl, he told himself. Not some pervert like Earl Gloria.
Who are you, and what have you done with my woman-hating, obscenity-spouting, homophobic Major?
“Excuse me, sir, but I think we’re making a mistake,” Sugar said timidly. “Earl Gloria is in London right now.”
That’s Lord Gloria, the Earl, or his lordship. You’re a Brit. You should know the proper way to address a peer.
Klaus looked at her sharply. “Are you sure? How is that possible?”
He didn’t go to Italy. How hard it that to figure out?
Without waiting for an answer, he barked an order and strode back towards the car. Sugar followed him at a trot.
Just get on with it, will you?
Once inside, Klaus slammed the door. “Where are we headed?” He snapped.
I hear you, Major. I think I’ve snapped, too.
Sugar reached out with her mind, and a strong, urgent premonition of danger suddenly jolted her.
She’s with an armed intelligence officer. That’s not too great a leap.
“Wherever he is, Caesar’s there, too!” She cried. “I’ll try and contact him.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
“Point the way,” Klaus said through gritted teeth as the car idled.
Don’t you have a map?
Sugar distractedly indicated the direction with her finger.
Dare I ask what else she would use?
“AGENT G, STEP ON IT!” Klaus ordered.
You really don’t have to yell in the car, Major. And why isn’t A driving?
G balked. “But I HATE speeding in city traffic.”
Don’t talk back, he’ll just yell louder.
Klaus exploded. “I DON’T GIVE A DAMN! JUST PRETEND YOU’RE DRIVING AWAY FROM ALASKA AS FAST AS YOU CAN!”
See.
“Right,” G quavered.
He what?
Sugar pressed herself into the back seat as they went from zero to sixty miles per hour in two seconds flat.
Which was impressive, considering he was driving in England and they measure everything metrically. That would…oh, never mind.
There are 3 chapters of this drivel, but thankfully it has been deleted from the internet. Only the sporkage remains.
Chapter Two is --> HERE
by Eroica
It’s bad enough you have to rape my fandom, but did you have to do it under the penname Eroica?
Disclaimer - I do not own Eroica, his copyright, his heart, his soul, his body or at least his wardrobe, in spite of numerous desperate deals with the devil to achieve this end.
I think Aioke-san should sue your ass anyway.
CHAPTER ONE
Earl Dorian Red Gloria, a.k.a. Eroica, sat at the window of his villa in Italy.
This tells me already that you don’t know canon. He always introduces himself as Dorian Red Gloria, Earl of Gloria.
It was summer.
What was the weather forecast?
The white roses in his garden reminded him of someone who he hadn’t seen for a long time.
That’s WHOM he had not seen.
The thorns put him in mind of someone else who kept cropping up with a much more frequency.
With a what?
Caesar and Klaus, respectively.
That’s wimpy, weepy!Uke and repressed Uber-Alpha male, respectively. Which to choose…?
“Shall I ever see either of them again?” He wondered aloud.
*groan*
He sighed, and rested his chin on his delicate white hand.
Let’s not get into ethic backgrounds, shall we? He’s English.
The rubies on his fingers flashed in the sunlight, and his gold bracelets jangled.
What rubies? He wears a single gold band on his right hand, and sometimes bracelets.
He was youthful and possessed of positively divine good looks; not to mention dress-sense.
No, let’s not mention his dress sense. Dorian’s taste in clothes is the pits.
His deep blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and liveliness. He dressed flamboyantly, and had long, luxuriant gold curls. His mouth was peony pink.
I think I may throw up.
Today, he was restless. He’d been here a month already, on what James insisted was a much-needed vacation.
Since when does James insist on vacations? He hates to spend money.
Rest was all very well, the earl decided, but boredom was another thing entirely. What he needed was not a vacation. It was an adventure.
Now there’s a shock.
“Something really challenging,” he murmured aloud. “Let it involve a priceless work of art, an exotic locale, and true love, or at least a decent summer fling.”
Dorian, are you reading a brochure?
He tried to think of a masterpiece that he desired that he didn’t own yet. Something magical, something majestic. Something that had stood the test of time and become all the more beautiful for its aging. Something full of mystery.
Something the author has to look up on the internet…
Aha! He had it.
Where’s the Major so I can ask him to track down this author and shoot them?
“James!” He shouted, and drummed his slender fingers on the windowsill.
I think those should be in two separate sentences.
His perpetually sniveling accountant, James, scurried in, a calculator in one hand an a checkbook in the other. “Yes, Earl?”
Sniveling? Now, I despise James, but I would never describe him in this manner.
“We’re going to be cutting our vacation short, James,” the Earl said imperiously. “And embarking on another heist.
Heist? Where is the romance in that?
Some amount of travel will be involved. On the way, be sure to arrange for a stopover in London.”
When did James become the travel planner? I thought that was Bonham's job.
“LONDON?” James shrilled.
*groan* Is that even a word?
The Earl watched him impassively and with a detached amusement as he turned bright red and sputtered incoherantly for several minutes.
He’s not the only one.
James had an allergic reaction to London.
Oh, please!
He had become sensitized several years ago at the same time that his adored Earl had fallen deeply in love with a certain beautiful art professor who resided there.
And then ditched in favor of the Major, because he isn’t a total wuss.
“If this is about that boy you like so much. . .” He said finally.
Of course it is. Didn’t you read the title?
“Not at all, James,” the Earl said amusedly. “It has more to do with you.”
Yeah, right.
“Really?” James looked up in hope.
That this fic would be over soon.
The Earl smiled radiantly. “Yes. London suits you, James.”
With all the pollution, soot and all.
“You think so?” Was this a compliment? James was ecstatic.
Really, James! You’re not that thick!
The Earl nodded, and looked at him coyly from under his lashes. “It makes you turn such an attractive shade of green.”
Why would Dorian be cruel when he’s trying to get James to go along with him
He smirked as James sulked, and rose to pace around the room.
Wait, what? Who rose and paced? James?
He was tall, slender and well-muscled, with the physique of a Greek God.
Since when?
Insanely good looking. It was unfair, really. Everything about Eroica was unfair.
No, everything about him is ABOUT HIM! He’s a self-centered narcissist!
Half of all the people he met fell in love with him, and he himself became smitten with the other half. He was rich, aristocratic, and brilliant. And he was the most successful art thief in Europe.
We really don’t need this half-assed bio, here.
His tone grew sharper.
Muscle tone? Oh, voice tone. I was / is / am confused.
“We will stop in London, James, to pick up a contact I need in order to succeed in snaring our latest prey. We will continue with him to France. There we will attempt a robbery of the Louvre.”
You know, last time I looked, Dorian knew how to use contractions.
“The Louvre?” James nearly fainted at the idea of it. “But that would be almost impossible!”
Why? They’ve done it before.
“I always get what I want, James,” the Earl snapped.
With the possible exception of the “Man in Purple.” And the Achilles. And the Buddha. And…oh yes, the Major.
“And in this case, I want absolute triumph. I want a symbol that will show the whole world how I overcame. I want the Victory of Samothrace!”
Overcame what?
James stared at him for a minute, and sniveled. He went out whimpering and muttering under his breath. “It’s an eight foot tall statue. How is he going to steal an eight foot tall marble statue?”
The same way he’s stolen all the others, you moron!
The Earl’s lips curved up into a smile.
Sounds more like he’s sneering.
* * * * * * *
In London, at the German embassy. . .
There were Germans and stuff. And it should be the WEST German embassy unless this is post October 3, 1990, which I seriously doubt.
Professor Caesar Gabriel woke in a cold sweat.
He realized he was in this fic. Wait…what’s he doing at the West German embassy again?
He gave a sharp gasp and blinked his huge blue eyes. Hard. The nightmare images faded. It was only a dream.
I wish this were only a dream.
The moon smiled in through his window, its silvery light falling on his beautiful face.
Spare me.
For the sake of the fan girls reading, I will describe him in delicious detail.
Why? If they’re fan!girls, they’ll already know what the wimp looks like.
Image Orlando Bloom as Legolas, only prettier. Much prettier.
What if I don’t know who Orlando Bloom is? Now I’m screwed because you are so totally useless in descriptions.
With his lips a sweeter pink, his eyes a blue more periwinkle and his hair a whiter blonde. He was also considerably more intelligent-looking.
Poor Legolas.
Traces of yesterday’s mascara clung to his long lashes.
Mascara! Caesar? What manga have you been reading?
He was wearing floral PJs. Scratch that. For the sake of the fan girls, he was wearing nothing at all.
Even though he’s a virginal male who finds posing for a statue-clothed-to be indecent.
He rose, and draped a silk kimono around his rather thin shoulders.
Oh, I see. Since the manga is Japanese, we’ll assume an Englishman will give a kimono as a gift, right?
The robe had a brocade pattern of roses. It had been a gift, left on his windowsill six months ago with a note reading, “From Eroica, With Love.”
It couldn’t’ve been from Dorian. It sounds too conservative.
The soft touch of the silk against his skin made him recall his recent dream. He frowned, almost pouted, and wrinkled up his high forehead.
Aw, isn’t he just so cute when he’s out of character?
It had contained the Earl, but that has been in only good thing about.
Um, come again?
It didn’t make up for the rest of the dream at all. His heart beat faster as he remembered it. Dorian had been in grave danger- - terrible danger!
And probably loving every minute of it! Wait, when did Caesar start calling him by name?
And, Caesar’s blood boiled at the thought, he’d been with another man!
Does Caesar even have the capacity to have his blood boil?
His fingers curled into fists, and he stared at them in surprise, unused to this violent reaction in himself.
See! He’s been hanging around the Major too long. He’s starting to act like a man and not a total pussy.
He forced himself to think rationally.
I am not touching that one.
Ever since he and his friends Sugar and Leopard had experienced a close brush with death as kids and been saved by a wierd old man, they had all been gifted with telepathy and other extraordinary powers.
You know, the fan!girls in the audience will know this already.
Even after all the years they’d had them, they still weren’t exactly sure how they worked.
I’m still not exactly sure how the hammerspace works, but I accept it.
He paced. Sugar could see the future. Could he?
No. Next question.
Could the dream be a premonition? If so, he couldn’t let it happen. He had to do something.
How about suicide?
His heart shuddered at the idea of danger, and he balked.
Well, a least that part is canon.
But then he thought of Dorian’s scream, of Dorian in pain.
Wait, I thought you said he was in danger. Now he’s being tortured. Are we jumping ahead just a tad?
He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let the other part of the dream come true, either- - the one with another man in it.
*groan* Okay, enough angst, okay!
If he thought hard, it seemed to him that the man might be someone he knew. Someone muscular and dark-haired. Leopard? No. . .
Gad! You’re in the West German embassy, for Christ's sake! Hmm, who do I know from Germany with long hair…?
He shook his head at himself in the mirror.
And fell down laughing.
“No,” he whispered, “It can’t be.”
Cue the suspenseful organ music!
* * * * * * * * *
Major Klaus Heinz Vom Dem Eberbach was, as always, a man with a mission.
He’s also a man who likes his name spelled correctly. That’s von dem, lower case.
He was at his happiest when he had direct orders to carry out. And his task this time delighted him in particular.
No, he’s at his happiest when he’s shouting, beating the crap out of somebody, or going back to Germany. Let’s get this straight.
He’d had a grudge against Earl Dorian Red Gloria ever since the audacious nobleman had stolen both a valuable painting
A valuable painting? Do you mean “The Man In Purple” that belongs to the Major?
and a very nice tank from under the Major’s nose.
Let’s be fair. Dorian did gave back the painting when he stole the tank.
What a good thing that his next assignment entailed tracking down Eroica himself,
He’s looking forward to this? Great. We start out immediately with OutOfCharacter!Klaus.
as NATO had developed suspicions that he might be working as an international spy, using his persona as an art thief as an excuse to move around quickly and preserve his anonymity.
Whaaaaa?
Stupid theory, of course.
Resists urge to shoot author of fic. Barely.
He didn’t believe it for a minute. But it served his purposes just fine.
And his purposes are…?
Dressed in tasteful but very bland civilian garb
Poor Klaus. Everyone else's outfits get a paragraph, he gets half a sentence. So much for playing to the fan!girls.
as he made his way down the London street, the Major still couldn’t help but look like a soldier. His dark hair was longer than regulation, perhaps, coming down to the tops of his muscular shoulders.
*eye roll*
But his eyes were the gray of bullets.
What! His eyes are green! The color of the Mosel wine bottle, remember!
His lean, handsome features were smooth as steel.
Iron! He’s Iron Klaus, dammit!
Not a hint of stubble marred his perfect jaw. A cigarette hung perpetually from the corner of his mouth.
You forgot to tell us about the .44 Magnum he normally carries in a shoulder holster. What an oversight!
(We have now established the physical appearance and whatever personality traits are necessary at this juncture for our leading men to actually possess.
Yeah, right. But then, anyone interested in reading this would already KNOW what they looked like.
Since this is, indeed, a shameless slash fic, it would be redundant to add that they will become the three points of a melodramatic and needlessly messy gay love triangle at some point or other.
But you’re going to say it anyway.
But more of that later.)
Thanks for the warning.
Right now, Klaus was headed for the first destination of his mission. He didn’t even have to leave the city to meet this contact.
Which is good, since you have him on foot. Where’s his Mercedes? Or at worst, a BMW.
She was a young woman, possibly telepathic, who was sometimes mentioned in Caesar’s ill-concealed and often very heartsick diary.
What diary?
Her name was Sugar Plum.
And we’re going to hear all about her, aren’t we?
Sugar was to be found, at this hour as at any other, in her home reading idiotic manga cartoons, or else painting.
Despite the fact that Japanese manga were virtually unheard of in Europe in the 1970s.
Today, it was the manga. She lay on her stomach on the couch, propped up on her elbows, drinking hot chocolate and fantasizing about hand-drawn heroes with lots of luxuriant hair (rather like the readers of this story are currently doing).
Please! Was she eating Bon-Bons from a heart-shaped box?
She looked up and smiled when Klaus came in.
Without knocking.
She had a nice face surrounded by a cloud of curly hair. Klaus was both disappointed and relieved to discover he had no romantic feelings for our heroine whatsoever.
Although this could be entirely due to the fact that women give him the creeps.
“Major Klaus Heinz Vom Dem Eberbach,” he introduced himself.
Thank you for stating the obvious.
Sugar managed not to giggle and blush. He looked exactly like a manga guy.
Oh, dear lord, kill me know.
But he was here on business. She smiled shyly. “Please sit down. Would you like some hot cocoa?”
Hot cocoa?
“Mein Gott, no,” Klaus said bluntly.
Thank you, Major.
Sugar decided not to like him after all.
I’m sure the Major will be relieved to know this. He dislikes everyone as a matter of course.
His cigarette was stinking up the room, anyway. “You need information tracking down Eroica?” she asked.
And she knows this how? Did she read ahead?
He nodded. “I might. I think you know something.”
Major, aren’t you in the least bit curious how she knows about your mission?
She shrugged. “I might.” She remembered to be a hard bargainer. Mama had warned her against being too generous.
Oh, cripes!
“What’s in it for me?”
You get to see the Major pretend he’s a gentleman. Worth its weight in gold, that is!
Klaus crossed his legs and his arms.
And promptly fell over, since he was still standing.
“Possibly a very sizeable reward.”
Yeah, right. You lie like a dog, Major.
Sugar bit her lip. “I’m not interested in a reward,” she admitted. “The Earl did something terrible to a friend of mine, once.”
And the Major didn’t?
The Major smirked in an odd way.
No, he’s grimacing because he’s in this fic.
It made her suspicious. She did a quick mental scan on him, and recoiled visibly.
When did she get this power?
“How did you know that already?” she cried aloud.
Know what already?
Klaus smiled. “You must be reading my mind. I met him.”
And you should know that because the wimp was whining to you and Leopard the whole time.
Sugar thought a lot of dirty words at herself.
As opposed to thinking them to someone else. No, wait, I guess she could actually do that.
How could she have slipped up like that and let the Major guess at her powers?
Oh, please!
She went into his thoughts more deeply. “Good,” she exhaled, “you aren’t going to test me for being telepathic or anything like that.”
Now, the manga went into excruciating detail about the fact that these three losers can only use the ESP on one another. So how is she able to read the Major’s mind?
“I won’t even let NATO know,” Klaus promised.
But he had his fingers crossed behind his back, so it didn’t count.
Sugar bit her lip. It was time they got back at Dorian Red Gloria.
Why? He gave you the little twirp back. No, wait. That’s reason enough in my book.
“I’m in,” she said.
*monotone* Hurrah!
Klaus nodded curtly. “I thought you would come around.”
*eye roll* Major, why aren’t you the least bit worried that someone can read your mind?
“What’s next?” she asked him.
Who else is there to ask!
Klaus fixed her a stare.
On the rocks with a twist.
“That’s partly for you to decide.
To decide what?
My sources say he’s in Italy. Once there, I’m relying on you to help us locate him exactly.”
Since when does Iron Klaus need the help of a civilian teenager to track down anyone?
“My powers don’t stretch very far.”
Try calling the psychic hotline.
“We’ll see. They’re better than nothing.” Klaus stood and excused himself.
Leaving the fic entirely.
Once outside, he paused and lit up another cigarette. Excellent. Things were all going according to his agenda.
My evil plan is coming together nicely…
Soon he’d be in Italy, and he’d see Dorian again- - no, catch him again, he corrected himself.
*groan* Come on! This is the repressed Major, here!
He suppressed a very strange shiver of anticipation.
Gah! I’m getting the Major’s Goosebumps!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dorian lounged gorgeously against a pillar, looking exquisitely bored.
Was he an Oak, Maple or Mahogany board?
He would never, ever, in a million years have accepted an invitation to this torturously dull party if not for the fact that he had been informed that Caesar would be there.
Why is the party dull, Dorian? You’re there.
He suppressed a yawn with an elegantly gloved hand.
Must be reading this fic.
“The things I do for love,” he muttered.
*groan* You’re a narcissistic, self-centered aristocrat, remember?
A soft stroke of pale gold at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned with his heart skipping. It was, indeed, Caesar’s platinum hair that he had seen. He took in the sight of the boy with delight.
Excuse me while I throw up.
“You’ve grown even more beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes soft as a summer sky.
His eyes soft as what? Are you getting this crap from a Harlequin romance?
Caesar, not seeing him, had within a moment moved away and mingled again with the crowd.
How the hell can you miss Dorian? He stands out like a sore thumb? Unless this is a costume party, then...
Dorian followed, desperately trying not to lose sight of his target.
Like that’s possible for someone his height.
* * * * * * * * *
As they stepped aboard the plane, Sugar got a very strange feeling that they were going in exactly the opposite direction they should be.
*groan* Use the Force, Luke. Whoops, sorry. Wrong fandom.
She caught hold of the Major’s arm. Klaus instinctively stiffened and pulled away, then made himself relax. She was just a girl, he told himself. Not some pervert like Earl Gloria.
Who are you, and what have you done with my woman-hating, obscenity-spouting, homophobic Major?
“Excuse me, sir, but I think we’re making a mistake,” Sugar said timidly. “Earl Gloria is in London right now.”
That’s Lord Gloria, the Earl, or his lordship. You’re a Brit. You should know the proper way to address a peer.
Klaus looked at her sharply. “Are you sure? How is that possible?”
He didn’t go to Italy. How hard it that to figure out?
Without waiting for an answer, he barked an order and strode back towards the car. Sugar followed him at a trot.
Just get on with it, will you?
Once inside, Klaus slammed the door. “Where are we headed?” He snapped.
I hear you, Major. I think I’ve snapped, too.
Sugar reached out with her mind, and a strong, urgent premonition of danger suddenly jolted her.
She’s with an armed intelligence officer. That’s not too great a leap.
“Wherever he is, Caesar’s there, too!” She cried. “I’ll try and contact him.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
“Point the way,” Klaus said through gritted teeth as the car idled.
Don’t you have a map?
Sugar distractedly indicated the direction with her finger.
Dare I ask what else she would use?
“AGENT G, STEP ON IT!” Klaus ordered.
You really don’t have to yell in the car, Major. And why isn’t A driving?
G balked. “But I HATE speeding in city traffic.”
Don’t talk back, he’ll just yell louder.
Klaus exploded. “I DON’T GIVE A DAMN! JUST PRETEND YOU’RE DRIVING AWAY FROM ALASKA AS FAST AS YOU CAN!”
See.
“Right,” G quavered.
He what?
Sugar pressed herself into the back seat as they went from zero to sixty miles per hour in two seconds flat.
Which was impressive, considering he was driving in England and they measure everything metrically. That would…oh, never mind.
There are 3 chapters of this drivel, but thankfully it has been deleted from the internet. Only the sporkage remains.
Chapter Two is --> HERE