(no subject)

[moonsheen]

Okay screw it FICBITS ARE ON. You know the drill: REQUEST CHARACTERS/PAIRING/SERIES AND I WILL ATTEMPT TO PRODUCE SOMETHING OF A VAGUELY APPROPRIATE LENGTH.

I can't think of any clever additions to it this time, so it'll just be a free-for-all. No points for stumping me. EXTRA points for anyone who requests Ergo Proxy of the whole three people on my f-list who've now watched it

Comments

Part 2!

[moonsheen.livejournal.com]

He found the book, though not without bringing half the shelf down along with it. That evening Oswald rested out on the balcony. Bloodless as his skin appeared, he never kept minor injuries for long, and the sprained wrist he’d sustained was functional by the time the first stars had begun to appear in the darkening skies. Gwendolyn brought him tea. With perfect balance, she rested it on the table next to him. It didn’t spill. He took a sip. He lowered the cup.

“Did Myris make this?”

“No. I did.”

He stared into the cup. His lips, dark and purple as a corpse’s, pursed. “I see.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said, and took another sip. “It’s just…strange. I’ve not had someone do so much for me in such a short period of time.” He put his book down and looked at her. His red eyes burned bright to match the skies. They were wide and a little perplexed. “I thank you for that.”

Gwendolyn stood straight and rigid. She pressed her wrists to either side of her waist and laced her fingers together. “…my lord?”

“I hope you do not feel as though you are obligated...” he trailed off. It was a common practice, with Oswald. The corner of his mouth twisted wryly. He brought the cup back up. “You are not my servant. I want you to know this.”

“I see,” she said, her voice cool and blank.

Her nails left marks in the back of her hands. She returned to the kitchens with the tray and the empty pot. She shut the door and sank to the floor. Myris took the tray quickly, and then returned with a warm cloth for her hands.

“Myris,” she said.

“I’m here, Gwendolyn.”

“What’s in the jar on the bench. The blue one, with the crack in the handle?”

“Salt, Gwendolyn.”

Gwendolyn pressed her face into her hands. “Yes. That’s what I thought.”

Re: Part 2!

[aerie.livejournal.com]

Oh, Gwendolyn. This is fabulous and you are fabulous. Thank you.