[Fic] [Round 16] - Through the Looking Glass - PG-13
Author: Clorinda
Characters: Anissina, Conrad, Günter, Gwendal, Yozak, Yuuri, Wolfram
Word Count: 1858
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: NONE
Prompt: flying, bucket, sword; combined with the freebie allowance
Author's Note: Disclaimer: Through this fic, I am not pretending to make Anissina a self-implant in any way. All opinions expressed here are solely for the sake of the story and its (shrivelled) entertainment value, so please don't misinterpret it. I'm serious.
Through the Looking Glass
By Clorinda
Anissina was in deep concentration. She was staring very hard at the screen in front her, manipulating the typewriter connected to the screen. She called it "Computer-kun." The words stared back at Anissina, mocking her. She frowned, beginning to get her hackles up.
Flying. Bucket. Sword.
The Flying Sword-Bucket. The Flying Sword Named Bucket. The Flying Sword In a Bucket!
It wasn't working. Her first ingenious attempt at writing fanfiction just wasn't working.
Of course, in theory, Computer-kun was simple. It was the Tool, the Matchmaker, the Love Machine. All she had to do was type in things, and they'd be true. Limited strictly to her parallel reality, contained in Computer-kun's memory drive, but that was a good enough start. The only glitch she'd forseen was having to keep it out of Greta's reach … for that matter, Günter's too, because the brain capacity of those two individuals was very nearly the same.
To get her creativity fired, Anissina had thought of using word prompts. Randomly opening the dictionary to select "bucket," "flying," and "sword" didn't seem so funny anymore. She sighed, staring fixedly at the screen, and sending very strong signals to her creativity.
The signals bounced back, unresponded.
Conrart.
The cursor blinked patiently. Nothing happened. No more words came. Anissina tried again.
Yozak.
Pieces of the jigsaw began to fit together.
Conrart lifted the sword, testing its weight on the wind. It felt heavy all of a sudden, he didn't know why, but maybe it was because his knees were trembling beneath him. He couldn't pinpoint why, but daft bugger that he was, blind to Love around the corner (even if it wore neon lights), he didn't realize there weren't that many options.
The sentence gave vent to a lot of Anissina's private feelings about Conrart's non-existent love-life, and the reasons for that status.
Yozak was gazing at him. He was waiting at the edge of the training field, intently watching Conrart practice manoeuvres, mesmerized by the confident ripple of strong muscles under those clothes, waiting for Conrart to notice him. He wasn't in drag, for a change, because he thought it gave out too clear signals about one's sexual orientation, and he wanted to be subtle for a change.
Boy, did he regret it, or what?
That, thought Anissina smugly, was what Pulitzer stuff was all about. (Alternatively, one might say, that was what listening to Yuuri go on about home was all about.) Cracking her knuckles, she got down to typing the good parts.
"Hey, Captain!"
Conrart spun around to see someone leaning negligently against a tree, waving at him. Uncertainly, he waved back. He had no idea what Yozak was doing there, but he had a nagging feeling that it was important. Something else in his head was telling him that it could wait. In full dress uniform, despite the unbearable heat of the summer sun, Conrart had a burning desire to practice sword fighting. Struggling to ignore Yozak, he raised the blade, muscles tightening with expectation. Slowly, he swished it to his left, beginning to get into the feel of it.
On the other hand, Yozak was dumbfounded and completely bewildered as to why the Captain was practicing moves like a ponce, when they both knew a military conference was taking place at the Voltaire castle, and Gwendal was waiting for Conrart to join him. The fate of Shin Makoku's political stability, in fact, was hinged on it.
On the other other hand, Yozak could also not fail to appreciate how the muscles of Conrart's back stood out firmly through the fabric of his clothes (although the last time he'd seen Conrart, muscle tone had been very, very light - a suitable adjective would have been non-existent) and his pectorals had never looked so good before.
Maybe that uniform had shrunk in the wash?
Conrart was very certain that opening his mouth would result in an undignified croak. So he kept his mouth shut. Unfortunately, that would not work as well with his brain. Thoughts raced through his cranium, shrieking and chasing one another, and it was also getting progressively harder to keep from turning red to the roots of his hair.
He didn't dare glance around even once at Yozak. It would result in something bad, he was sure of it. Not bad … he couldn't deny it might be very … satisfying. Inappropriate. Yeah, that was that right word. Too bad inappropriate felt very good as of now.
It then struck Anissina that if Conrart went gallivanting with Yozak, a lot of people would have something to say. People like the maids, for instance. Yuuri was a conventional favourite to be swept away by Conrart. Something would have to be done. The Maou must be saddled with a dark horse.
Anissina's pro-liberal views didn't extend to the male counterpart of Women Aren't Born Just To Look Pretty and Get Married.
Under the mistaken impression that Yuuri was conducting kingly administrative business in the study, Wolfram knocked on the door. The sight that met him was a remarkable one.
Most noticeably: there was no Günter.
Consequently, Yuuri was fast asleep and snoring.
Thankfully, Wolfram wasn't a brick wall when it came to good ideas; that is, good ideas didn't hit him and then go SPLAT! The sight of Yuuri and that table were giving him some very good ideas.
Stealthily, little Lord Bielefeld began to creep into the room, ready to surprise the sleeping Yuuri. But then … he crept right up to the janitor's bucket without seeing it and tripped over it with an almighty crash.
Rather like Wolfram's terrifically good idea, Anissina ran into a mental wall and went SPLAT!
She had, with some élan, solved the Conrart-Yuuri link-up problem by introducing the Wolfram angle, but she'd left one end very, very loose.
Günter.
The word stared accusingly at Anissina from the screen. It immediately pulled up maniacal, ludicrious and just plain creepy mental images, but it couldn't be helped. Sighing, she pulled the typewriter towards her again. Her Day of Reckoning as an Off-the-wall Avant-Garde Creative Genius had come. It was time to appease her adoring public.
Günter sniffed appreciatively at the roses on his window-sill, resplendent in their vase and the card that was signed: "Lover." Silly, he thought; there was little doubt where the flowers had come from, and it wasn't Yuuri, that was for sure. Smugly, he reflected, that the kingly allowance could never afford such beauties.
And as had been happening all day, Computer-kun's magic extended far beyond Anissina's puny projector screen and typewriter, turning the cogs of fantasy and fangirl-dream-fulfilment, and transformed it into reality.
There came a knock on Günter's door.
Anissina stopped. She couldn't type anymore. Her hands were trembling, her heart was racing. Gwendal was supposed to on the other side of Günter's door, but she couldn't make herself write it. She just couldn't.
Günter fingered the pink petals of the rose, glistening wet with dewdrops in the sunlight. The thought of its smooth, delicate surface was mingled with more fiery thoughts of the man who had sent them. He knew it had been a bad idea to leave Yuuri alone with his books, but he couldn't have helped it. Not when Gwendal sent a message, asking for a private "urgent meeting" in the study. Not when it was Gwendal.
Slowly smiling, Günter stared out the window. The sunlight was dazzling, but Gwendal, Gwendal, Gwendal was the only thought on his mind.
There was a knock on the door.
The lab was nothing like Günter's study; by contrast, it was in the basement: well-ventilated but poorly-lit. Anissina sat hunched and craven over the typewriter, compelled by some inner voice to stop. Can't. Can't. Can't. It was just a story, she told herself. Just a silly story with Günter and co-incidentally Gwendal. She could pair them up for laughs, couldn't she?
Can't. Can't. Can't.
Shan't.
There came a knock on Günter's door.
It was Gwendal.
Anissina's finger slammed down on the BACKSPACE button, obliterating the words from the screen in a fit of haste and fury.
NO.
She was being stupid.
It was Gwendal, come to finish what they had started
NONONONOGWENDALISNOTSCREWINGTHATPANSYNONO.
The knocking repeated itself. Then it stopped. Then it started again. Then it stopped. Günter frowned, about to open the door. The second the knocking stopped, all thoughts of reaching for the door vanished. Then the knock came again. Günter was aware he was behaving like an idiot, unable to make up his mind about the door, but his brain and feet seemed to be against him and in cahoots with each other.
It was irritating.
It occurred to Gwendal that Günter was not just a passing fancy in his mind, but a pansy to boot. A poofter. A closet drag queen, or worse. It also occurred to him that he'd been in denial all his life, and it was Anissina- Anissina all along that he had loved. Beautiful, kind, caring, bold and resolute Anissina who had grown up with him and taught him to knit. He loved her, her and her only.
Anissina stared, dumbfounded, at the screen.
"Urk," was all she managed. That was pushing it- even for her.
She quickly deleted the junk on the screen.
Gwendal.
Anissina.
Were very good friends.
So were Gwendal and Günter.
But not as good friends as Gwendal and Anissina.
"That's cheating," she told herself sternly, and deleted the last two lines.
Gwendal came to a decision about his so-far-non-existent-in-the-anime-series love life and decided to go with his heart.
Wherever it led him, to whoever it led him to.
Anissina stared at the screen, a little blankly, a little sadly. She knew she was doing - writing - the right thing. She was even beginning to feel a little chivalrous herself. She wouldn't mess with Gwendal. If he loved her … she'd be waiting. If he didn't … she was happy for him.
But that wouldn't stop Anissina from chasing Günter with a giant meat cleaver.
Unrelated to the chaos and turmoil in her mind, Anissina was dimly aware of the sound…
Of a knock on her door.
Gwendal turned around at the sound of the knock. Heart thudding in his ears, he crossed to the door and flung it open, only to find…
Gwendal was having an odd day. For some reason, his Inner Voice was telling him it was a really good idea to go around randomly knocking on people's doors. And for some equally inexplicable reason, instead of telling the Voice to screw itself (which was what he usually did) he found himself obeying it.
So he knocked. He had no idea why he was standing down there, knocking on the door of what he privately called the Torture Chamber Of Doom. As soon as his knuckles rapped against the wood, he nearly jumped out of his skin as a voice from the other side shrieked loud enough to rattle window panes:
"YES!"
"Err, hi…" Günter stared blankly at the man standing in his doorway. "You're Yuuri's brother, Shiori, right? … Err, come on in … make yourself at home..."
-- finis --