Saturday, April 24, 2010

The Legend of Damien

A/N: This little (or, er…not so little) thing right here is my entry for Rune Haven's April contest, the theme of which is "Fairy Tale". I thought of an idea right away, and I really really can't resist doing it, even with finals hanging over my head. So this was a tad bit more rushed and under-researched than I would have liked, but I still love it nonetheless. :D I hope you enjoy!

The Legend of Damien

.~.~.~.~.

"Leonel, it's t-time for bed!" Dorothy called from the stairway, climbing up the steps to the second floor. There was a large shuffling and a small crash that sounded like he'd dropped something, so she rushed upstairs, hoping he hadn't made a mess. "Are you cleaning up? I'll be there in a second…"

"Yes, mom!" Dorothy peeked in to her young son's room, seeing the boy, not six years old, scrambling to neatly stack his tools in a box on his dresser, a small piece of wood clutched in one of his chubby fists.

"What are you making, d-dear?" she asked curiously, and Leonel looked up, his expression bright and smiling.

"It's a carving. I saw Dad carving something and I wanted to try it myself!"

"O-Oh?" Dorothy smiled, but worry creased her brow. Leonel was carving something? That involved knives… "That's great, honey. C-Can I see it?" Leonel nodded, reaching up to hand her the object. It was rough and jagged, very obviously carved by inexperienced hands, but she could already pick out the outline of a head, round with a snout and the beginnings of little floppy ears sticking out of it.

"This is w-wonderful, Leonel, it looks great already… What kind of m-monster is it going to be?" she asked as he began to change into his pajamas, struggling to pull the shirt over his head. She laughed lightly, gently helping him pull the shirt off. He came out of the garment frowning, blond hair flying everywhere because of the static, and Dorothy nearly giggled again.

"It's a Woolly!" he answered, pulling his pj shirt on with no difficulty this time. "Well, it's supposed to be, anyway…"

"I see!" she said brightly, setting the soon-to-be Woolly on the bedside table while she helped Leonel crawl into bed and began to tuck him in. "I can't wait to see what it looks like when it's done." She silently added that she was going to have to talk to Barrett later about supervising him while he did, though.

Leonel nodded, smiling slightly as he curled up under the blankets, eyes fluttering shut when Dorothy kissed him on the forehead. "What story w-would you like me to tell you tonight?"

"Umm… how about another story where a hero saves the princess? Like the one you told me last night… but I don't wanna hear that one again!" he said excitedly, blue eyes glittering with glee. "Those stories always give me good dreams."

Dorothy chuckled, running a hand through her son's hair. "Alright, t-that sounds good. Just let me think…" she paused, eyes wandering around the room as she dredged through her memories, trying to find the perfect story. Her gaze landed on the carving Leonel had begun to make, and smiled as an idea came to her.

"I-I think I've got one. I remember this one from when I w-was a little girl; it was always one of my f-favorites…"

Leonel gasped, squirming in his bed. "Ooh! Tell me, Grandpa always has good stories." Dorothy smiled, nodding.

"Of course, honey." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she let the story come to her and wrap itself around the both of them. "This is a story set long long ago, when monsters and humans and all kinds of other folk lived closely together, as neighbors. This is the story of Damien, who despite his small, unassuming stature became a great hero. Dandy, the airheaded Cluckadoodle, and Sandy, the timid Woolly with fur that was a strange bright yellow that attracted everyone's attention, helped him, but Damien was the real hero who fought off the evil that threatened those of our story. Damien was a Woolly, who was normally a very docile, kind monster. He had snowy white fur that was soft and curly and very poofy, and protected his small body from those who wished to hurt him. But he was a curious little thing—always searching for something new to discover, someone new to play with."

Leonel giggled, smiling brightly up at his mother. "Like the one I've been carving?" Dorothy nodded, before continuing on with her tale.

"But one day, a typhoon hit Damien's happy home, and he was torn away from his family by the rushing tide, where he clutched to a branch that had fallen off of the tree he had lived under until the tide slowed and he lost himself to his exhaustion."

"Oh no!" Leonel gasped, eyes wide with worry, but Dorothy calmed him, running a tender hand across his cheek.

"Shh, listen to the story, dear." She chuckled when he pouted at her, but allowed her to continue.

"Okay, okay. He's gotta be alright anyway, if he's gonna be the hero. He can't get hurt so soon."

"Right…" Dorothy confirmed with a small smile before she delved back into her bedtime story. "When Damien awoke, he felt heavy and dizzy from his disaster, but he heard voices above him, which called him back into consciousness. He opened his little blue eyes to find a girl staring down at him, talking in a quiet voice.

"'Daddy,' she said, turning around to face a taller man he didn't notice the first time, 'look, it's a dead Woolly. Should we hold a funeral for him?'

"Damien was much too tired to keep his eyes open anymore, but he heard the man tell her that he might not be dead, just washed up from the storm the previous night. He was enveloped in warm arms, and without his knowledge, fell back asleep.

"When he woke up, he found himself inside of a house, wrapped up tightly in a soft towel. Feeling much better, he sat up to look around, finding the little girl and man from earlier watching him carefully, joined by another woman he didn't see before.

"'Be careful, you two, and let's watch what he does,' the man said to his companions when the little girl moved to approach him, 'Woollies are normally very docile creatures, but they do attack when frightened. So let's see what he does before any of us get near him.'

"And while Damien normally would have been very terrified of the humans, they had not tried to harm him, and had even helped him, so he sat up after deciding that the towel wasn't all that interesting, fluffed up his still-damp fur, and slowly wandered up to the little girl who had found him. He peered up at her curiously, and she did the same, before deciding that she was kind and nuzzled up to her, rubbing his furry face in her stomach with a small 'baaaa'."

Leonel giggled at his mother's attempt to mimic a Woolly's call, and she smiled, giggling as well. "Oh, shush, you," she admonished jokingly, tickling him from under the blankets.

"Okay, okay, I give!" Leonel managed to say between giggles, "keep going, I want to hear the rest!" Dorothy chuckled, but obliged.

"At first the mother was worried, and nearly went to retrieve her daughter from Damien's cuddling, but the father stopped her, saying, 'Don't worry, that's how he makes friends.'

"'He tickles!' The little girl squealed, wrapping her tiny arms around Damien for a hug.

"'My goodness,' the mother said, watching her daughter and Damien with awe, 'I never imagined that a monster could be so kind and tame. Maybe it's because we were so kind to him.'

"The father agreed, saying that as long as the daughter, who Damien learned was named Tatiana, didn't try to cage him up or hurt him he would be very kind and cuddly. They gave him some feed to eat, which he ate up happily, joyful that he had come across such kind people. And when he was done, he wandered outside into the garden to bask in the sun, fluffing up his thick wool so it would dry all the way to its roots. After he was dry, he felt much, much better, so being the curious thing that he was, he started wandering around the house, following Tatiana wherever she went. They ran through the kitchen and up and down the stairs, running circles around the mother and father until neither could stand their mischief anymore and sent them out into town to play with the other children. Damien enjoyed this immensely—never before had he been pet and cuddled and loved so much in his life, and he got in much trouble: when they passed the grocer's he couldn't resist the sweet scent of the apples stacked in a box outside, and took one, much to the owner's dismay. He burned his little paws on the hot sand of the beach and nearly drowned himself in the water of the ocean trying to retrieve a shiny seashell he had spotted under the waves. But, all too soon, it was nightfall, and a tired Tatiana pulled him back to the house, where he crawled into bed with her, curling up into a little fluffball at the end of her bed.

"Tatiana's mother and father came into the room, and Damien picked up his fuzzy little head, still much too excited to sleep yet. 'I don't like that,' the mother said, 'what if he hurts her while she sleeps?'

"'Don't you worry,' the father assured her, 'he wouldn't hurt her. In fact, she's probably safer than without him. If a Goblin or other violent monster came in here…'

"But Tatiana's mother didn't like that thought, so she shushed her husband, and they left to retire to their rooms as well. The next morning, Damien woke up early with Tatiana, and at breakfast they fed him feed again, but Tatiana slipped him some egg under the table which he liked a lot. He took to each member of the family, cuddling up against them and letting them pet his soft wool, because every good monster wants to become friends with humans and have a house to run in and lots of food to eat—his mother had lived on a farm with a kind young man, and told him ever since he was a little baby lamb how to win the human's hearts.

"After breakfast, Damien struck out on his own, wandering in the opposite direction of town until he found himself in a forest. It had all manner of bright flower that tickled his little pink nose with their scents and little berries which were good for him to eat. He was happily exploring this new place when he heard a call from deep within a thicket, low and mournful. It was Dandy the Cluckadoodle, and his wife. They had erected a modest sized nest with all manner of leaves and sticks and plants, and it looked like a very safe place to be.

"'Why do you call out so sadly?' Damien asked Dandy, spiky pickers sticking to his furry little head and paws.

"'Hello there little Woolly… we are very sad. That nasty Nathan came up and stole all our berries that we had been collecting for dinner.'

"'That is very sad,' said Damien with a thoughtful hum. 'But, I am new here. Who is Nathan?' But Dandy and his wife just buried themselves in their nest with a shiver. Behind him, Damien heard the thump thump thump of footsteps, which made him jump out of the thicket in a hurry, his little Woolly heart thumping its own rhythm with fear. Out through the trees came a Goblin Master, his sword raised menacingly, glinting coldly in the warm sunlight. He looked at Damien with an expression of superiority and strength, as if he were not at all frightened of little Damien.

"'Who is Nathan, you ask?' the Goblin Master bellowed, "I am Nathan. The great Gods of our original world placed these horns on our heads, so that we may piece through the hearts of our enemies; so that all will know of our great power. Behold, and be afraid!" He raised his great head, so that Damien might see the horn more clearly, and for a moment, Damien was afraid. But Damien, ever the curious creature, could not stay scared for long: too soon his curiosity got the better of him, and he had met a Goblin before, although not of this kind, and she had been kind to him.

"'But, horn or no horn, don't you think it wrong to steal food from another?' Damien asked Nathan, fluffing up his wool so that he looked bigger, so that Nathan might think twice about attacking him.

"But Nathan was thinking to himself, distracted by the littlest movement behind Damien. He knew that Woollies normally meant no harm to him, but this one seemed to be brave, and a brave monster willing to stand up to him was a problem that needed to be solved.

"'Let us talk about this,' Nathan said, lowering his head and sword. 'We all have to work hard to survive here. I did not know that those berries belonged to Dandy and his wife. I thought I had just gotten lucky.'

"'Damien! Look out, quick, behind you!' Dandy's wife screeched, and on instinct Damien jumped up; just as under him slashed the arm of Victoria, Nathan's wife, her sword just missing his little furry feet. She flew past him, and he came down on her back, claws digging into her flesh. If Damien had been a little more experienced, he would have known where was best to cling to Victoria and where to bite to subdue her, but he was not, and he was afraid of her vicious sword, so he only managed to rip at her armor and wound her only mildly. Victoria slashed at him again, and he just managed to jump out of the way, leaving her cut up and seething with anger.

"'You sneaky little thing!' Cried Nathan, and he charged at Dandy's thicket – but it had been built thick and strong, so he only managed to break a few branches before he gave up.

"Damien, who was still startled by Victoria's attack, felt a strange sort of spark run through his limbs—it felt like his claws were on fire, and he was ready to defend himself or Dandy if he needed to. But Nathan and Victoria disappeared into the woods and out of sight, for Goblin Masters are crafty things, and know when it is best to attack and when it is best to retreat. Damien felt no urge to follow them, because he doubted his ability to take on two such formidable monsters at once. So he bid farewell to Dandy and wandered back down to the house, resting in the garden so that he could think about what he should do. Nathan and Victoria did not seem to be very kind monsters to have around. But he knew he was young and inexperienced in fighting, so he was very proud that he had managed to escape such a blow from behind, and when Tatiana found him he was very much ready to be petted and praised.

"But just as Tatiana was sitting down to cuddle with him, something shifted in the tall grass, the hiss of a voice coming out through the foliage, "Beware… for I am death!" It was Leonard the Death Stalker, who while he was small and insect-like, he had a stinger with a poison as formidable as the swing of Victoria's sword. Damien felt that strange spark run through his limbs again and he dashed up to Leonard, puffing up his wool as they danced around. To an outsider, Damien might have looked very funny—like two little fluffy balls of cotton with limbs, but this allowed him more space to avoid one of Leonard's strikes, for he was more likely to hit just his wool rather than his small lithe body.

"Damien didn't know, but fighting Leonard was much more dangerous than Victoria, because Leonard was smaller and quicker and able to scurry about around him at a much faster pace than Victoria could. But that tingling feeling was running through his body, and he let Leonard dance around him, waiting for the best opportunity to strike.

"Leonard struck, but Damien managed to evade him, his claws finding purchase on his tough insect skin. Leonard snapped at him again with his tail, and Damien just managed to avoid it, the stinger just barely grazing the fur on the top of his head.

"'Daddy, look! Our Woolly is fighting a Death Stalker!' Damien heard a scream from Tatiana's mother, and her father rushed out with a short sword in hand, but he was too late—Leonard had pounced a little too far, which gave Damien the opportunity to latch his little mouth around his tail, snapping it off. He rolled away as Leonard screamed out, and the father reached them, slashing at the monster until it disappeared into a flash of green light, headed back to the Forest of Beginnings, where all monsters of this world originate."

"Whoa!" Leonel exclaimed, eyes big. "That's awesome, Mom. Damien is so cool!"

"Yes, he is, dear." Dorothy said with a light chuckle, "He is a v-very brave little Woolly. But there is still a lot l-left for him to do before he becomes a real h-hero."

Leonel gaped at her, amazed. "Really? There's more?!" Dorothy nodded at her boy, amused by his eagerness. "Well, keep telling the story then, I wanna know what happens next."

"Of course, honey." She ran a hand through her son's hair to calm him down a bit, before she continued on.

"Damien went back to the place he had been sunning himself the day before, thinking the father's actions to be quite pointless—Leonard would have disappeared quickly after a wound like that. After the excitement had settled down, Tatiana's mother picked him up and cuddled him close, calling him all sorts of wonderful names and thanking him for saving her daughter while the father called him a godsend. Damien was quite amused by all the fuss, for he had been sunning himself for a while now and had forgotten the previous ordeal—she may as well have been praising him for laying about enjoying the weather.

"That night at dinner, the family rejoiced and gave him all sorts of treats to eat, but he remembered from deep within himself that a stuffed Woolly was a slow Woolly, and Nathan and Victoria were still running about, ready to get rid of him at all costs. So while it was very pleasant to be cuddled and pet and fed by Tatiana and her mother, that tingling would run through his body, and he'd run outside, ready to face anything that he heard coming from the forest. Eventually, Tatiana dragged him off to bed, asking him to sleep cuddled against her chest rather than at the end of the bed, and while Damien was still too excited to sleep, he allowed it. But when Tatiana finally fell asleep he slipped away, and in the dark outside the house Damien ran into Sandy the yellow-colored Woolly, who stuck out amongst the greenery. Sandy was a horribly timid little Woolly, who never ventured far from her nest, 'baaa'-ing softly into the night in hunger, for she was far too scared to go much of anywhere to find food.

"'Hello?' Damien called out to the strange-looking Woolly, and Sandy jumped, dashing off to hide behind a tree.

"'D-Don't k-kill m-me, Damien,' Sandy cried out, her round little body shaking from behind the tree. 'P-Please, I b-beg of y-you, don't h-hurt m-me…'

"'Do you think a Death Stalker killer like me would hurt one of my own?' Damien asked mockingly, amused by Sandy's fear.

"'Th-Those who k-kill monsters g-get k-killed by other m-monsters…' Sandy responded timidly, getting more terrified by the moment, 'h-how do I k-know that N-Nathan or Vic-Victoria might mistake m-me for y-you in the night like t-this?'

"'I don't think that's likely. Besides, you hardly ever venture far from your nest, and Nathan and Victoria live deep within the forest.'

"'M-My cousin, Sa-Sage the Woolly, t-told me that—' Sandy began, but then she stopped.

"'Told you what?'

"'Ssssh! N-Nathan is e-everywhere! H-He has monsters a-all over t-that are u-under h-his rule, and s-spy on a-all of us to m-make s-sure his r-reign is absolute! Y-You sh-should have t-talked to Sage in the w-western p-part of the f-forest.'

"'Well, I didn't, so you'll have to tell me, Sandy,' Damien implored her, 'Do it, or I'll scratch you!'

"Sandy merely shivered from behind the tree, fat wet tears rolling off of her whiskers and little black snout. 'I-I am a v-very p-poor little W-Woolly, with very little c-courage. I-I can't e-even m-muster the strength t-to leave m-my home m-most days to f-feed m-myself. Aaah! I-I can't s-say anymore, Damien, c-can't y-you hear?' So Damien listened, and once he had been listening long enough, he thought he heard the thump thump thump of footsteps near the house, faint in the rushing wind.

"'That's Nathan or Victoria…' Damien muttered to himself, 'it sounds like they're under the porch. You're right, Sandy. Maybe I should have gone to speak with Sage.' He dashed away toward the house as fast as his little legs could carry him, where he looked all around the raised porch, looking for an opening for him to sneak into. On the far side of the house the fencing had been broken, just big enough for a monster slightly larger than himself to squeeze in. He snuck in, listening as intently as he could, and he heard Nathan and Victoria whispering to each other further within.

"'That little fluffball has bonded with the humans,' Victoria hissed to her husband, 'which makes him a bigger nuisance than he would be by himself. If we empty the house of people, he'll have no choice but to leave, and our reign over the forest will again be absolute. Go in quietly, and remember that the man who killed Leonard is dangerous. When you kill them, come out and tell me, and we'll go after Damien together.'

"'But are you sure it is necessary to kill the humans?' Nathan asked, seemingly apprehensive about the idea.

"'Of course it is! When they were not around, did we have any bratty courageous little Woollies threatening us? No! Once those humans are gone, we'll forever be the King and Queen of the forest again. And remember, the portal is ready to bring forth more of our brethren (it may be as soon as tomorrow); our family will need room to grow.'

"'I wasn't thinking of that," Nathan said, nodding his horned head in agreement. 'Okay, I will kill the humans. But there is no reason to hunt Damien after they are gone—he will leave on his own. He has no reason to stay here without their care.'

By now, Damien was absolutely shaking with anger and disgust at Victoria's plan. He hid in the shadows as Nathan slipped past him, and in the moonlight, he seemed so much bigger, which frightened him. Nathan withdrew his sword and prepared himself, and Damien could see the metal of it glitter.

"'What should I do?' Damien wondered silently to himself, 'If I fight Nathan here, Victoria will know and surely overpower me. But if I lead Nathan away, he'll have the advantage in the open space…'

"'This is good,' Nathan said, wandering over to the well near the house. 'Now, when that man killed Leonard, he had a sword with him. He might still have that sword, but in the early morning, he will come out here for water for their breakfast. He is not likely to have it with him then, because no one has attacked him here. I will wait for him here. Victoria, do you hear me? I will wait for him here until the morning, and kill him then.'

"But there was no answer, so Damien knew that Victoria must have gone away. Nathan sat down, hidden from view from the house by the stack of wood piled by the well, and Damien stayed as still as he could. An hour later or so, Damien began to move, inch by inch, toward Nathan, who he was sure was asleep by now. He looked at his broad back, wondering where would be the best place to attack him. His shoulders were protected by armor, that while it was thin, it was still too much for his little claws and teeth to pierce though; he doubted attacking there would do much other than anger the Goblin Master, and he was afraid of that large sword he carried.

"'I'll have to break his neck at the first jump, or else he'll be able to fight back, and if he does…' Damien shook his head, not wanting to think of the consequences. "I must be fast and accurate, and hold fast—if I let go, it'll be my end.'

"And then he jumped. The head was resting lightly against the pile of wood, and he latched his little teeth around the monster's neck, pressing it as hard against the pile as he could, bracing himself against it. And then he was battered back and forth as Nathan woke up, trying his best to shake him off. He dug his little claws into Nathan's shoulders to keep himself on his back, sinking his teeth in as hard as he could. The wood was knocked off the pile and the bucket for the well was pushed into the hole with a loud clatter and splash, and Damien closed his eyes, willing himself to never let go. He would rather be found banged to death with his jaws locked, because it was more honorable to die fighting. He was dizzy, and his whole body hurt from being smashed into all the things that were around in the garden. But then it sounded as if the air around him had incinerated, and a hot gush of wind that singed the tip of his little nose blew past, knocking him senseless.

"The father had woken up, and had blasted a Fireball at the Goblin Master just below the chin. Damien held fast with his eyes shut, for he was sure he was dead, but Nathan didn't move, and soon the father came and picked him up. 'It's that Woolly again, dear. It has saved our lives now.' Tatiana's mother came out, looking shocked and white-faced, and saw Nathan disappear into a flash of green light heading for the heavens. Damien dragged himself into Tatiana's room, where he spent half the night inspecting his little body to discover if he really was as broken as he felt, but he was not, and he slept very well that night."

Leonel squealed with glee—he had been clutching the blankets hard, eyes wide, worried about might become of Damien in his fight. Dorothy smiled brightly at his reaction. "Whoa! He managed to beat Nathan! That's amazing, Mom," he said with wonder, but Dorothy shushed him, telling him that there was still more—he still had to deal with Victoria.

"When morning arrived, he felt oh so very stiff, but very proud of himself. 'Now I only have Victoria to deal with, but she will be much worse than Nathan, since she'll be angry I got rid of him. Plus, that portal that will bring more of them will be a problem if I let it… I must speak to Dandy.' So without breakfast, Damien rushed off to Dandy's thicket, where Dandy was singing a song of victory at the top of his little Cluckadoodle lungs. The news of Nathan's death was all over the forest, for Candie, the Weegull with fast wings and a loud voice, had seen him disappear and told everyone she could find.

"'Oh, you scatter-brained lump of feathers! Is this really any time to sing?' Damien asked angrily.

"'Nathan is dead! He's dead! Dead!' sang Dandy, "The fearless Damien took him by the neck, the big man threw fire at him, and now he's dead! He'll never eat my food again!'

"'That is true, but where is Victoria?' Damien asked, looking around carefully.

"'She came by the house to see how Nathan was doing and saw him float off into the sky. So, let us sing about the great Damien!'

"'Stop singing and listen to me, Dandy! You don't know what the right thing to do is at the right time! You're safe enough in that nest of yours, but it's like a war for me down here. Stop singing for a moment!'

"'Alright, for the Great Damien's sake I will stop. What is it, O Killer of the tyrant Nathan?'

"'Where is Victoria, for the umpteenth time?' he asked, exasperated.

"'She's hovering by the eastern part of the forest near the house, mourning for Nathan. Great is you, Damien, with the sharp teeth.'

"Damien rolled his little blue eyes. 'Never mind my sharp teeth. Do you know where the portal that brings forth her kind is?'

"'It's deep in the northern part of the forest, hidden by the river. That's where her lair is,' Dandy told him, fluffing his feathers.

"'And you never thought to tell me this beforehand? By the river, you said?'

"'Yes. What are you planning, Damien?'

"'Don't worry yourself about it,' replied Damien as he pulled himself out of the thicket. 'But if you had any sense, you'd head off to the eastern part of the forest and complain that your wing is broken, and let Victoria chase you to the south. If I went there now, she would notice me.'

"But Dandy was a rather silly little bird-brain that couldn't keep more than one train of thought in his head, and since his kind came from the portals as well, he didn't think it was very nice to destroy the Goblin Master's portal. But his wife, Samantha, was a much more sensible bird, and knew that the portal meant that there would be more Goblin Masters later on, so she hopped off to the east, leaving Dandy to continue his song about the death of Nathan.

"She fluttered over by where Victoria stood, and cried out, 'Oh, my poor wing! My wing is broken! That evil little girl in the house threw a rock at me and broke it!' she hopped around, fluttering about in frantic stumbles.

"Victoria lifted up her big horned head and growled, "You warned Damien that I was coming and ruined my chance to rid ourselves of him before Nathan was killed. You have certainly chosen a terrible place to be wounded in.'

"'Oh, it hurts so much!' Samantha continued to cry, weakly hopping about.

"'Well, if it's any consolation, it won't hurt much when you're dead! And that little girl won't live very long after you—my husband is dead because of that man and the Woolly she cares for so much. What's the use of trying to run away? You can't outrun me. Fool, look at me!'

"'But Samantha did not look, because she knew if she did she would become far too scared to even move. She continued to flit about, squawking regretfully, as Victoria closed in on her.

"Damien heard Samantha head up to where Victoria was, so he dashed off to the north, finding the swirling green portal hovering by the river as Dandy had said. 'I found it… and not a day too soon,' he thought to himself; for he could see the portal was pulsing with power, ready to bring forth more of his enemies. He began to dig until he found a tablet scrawled with some language he didn't know. Damien was about to chuckle to himself as he reared up to slam himself down on the tablet and shatter it, when he heard Samantha screaming.

"'Oh, Damien, it's terrible! I lead Victoria down near the house and now… oh, come quickly, she means to kill!' Having no time to try and destroy the tablet, he picked it up in his little paws and scurried down to the southeast.

"'When he arrived at the house, he found the family sat at the table for an early breakfast, but no one was eating anything. The father and mother were in their seats, white-faced and stricken with horror. Victoria was standing behind Tatiana's chair, sword hovering dangerously close to the girl's throat.

"'Daughter of the man who killed my precious Nathan,' she hissed gleefully, 'stay still. I am not ready yet, so all three of you, don't move an inch. If you move, I'll strike, but if you don't move, I might still strike. Oh, you foolish people, who killed my Nathan, you will pay!'

"'Tatiana's gaze was fixed on her father, who could only whisper, 'stay still, Tatiana. Don't move; you must stay still.'

"Damien came up and shouted, 'Victoria! Turn around and fight!'

"'I will in good time,' Victoria replied, not moving from her vicious pose, her gaze fixed on the family, 'I'll settle my grievances with you in good time. Look at your precious humans, Damien. They are stiff with fear. And if you move, I will strike!'

"'Look at your lair, in the northern forest by the river. Your portal lies there, doesn't it?' Damien said, and Victoria turned her head halfway around, seeing the tablet sitting on the floor.

"'Aah, the summoning tablet! Give it to me!' Damien reared up on his little hind legs, ready to pounce and destroy it.

"'I wonder, what's the price for this tablet? For another Goblin Master? For the very last of your kind?'

"Victoria spun the rest of the way around, forgetting little Tatiana in favor of protecting the item that summoned her here, and Damien saw Tatiana's father's hand shoot out and drag her away from danger. 'Aha! You've been tricked, Victoria! I tricked you! The girl is safe, and it wasn't the father who killed Nathan. It was I—he tossed me back and forth and all around, but he couldn't throw me off, and I broke his neck before the man managed to throw his fire at us! Come and fight me, Victoria, and you won't be a widow for very long!' He jumped around, taunting her with every word.

"And Victoria saw that she had been outsmarted, and no longer had a chance to kill Tatiana like she had wished, while Damien held the summoning tablet between his paws. 'Give me the tablet, Damien,' she said, lowering her head. 'Give me the tablet and I will leave and never return.'

"'You will leave and never come back, but you'll be soaring to the heavens in a flash of light! Come and fight me, Victoria! The man has gone for his sword! Fight me!' Damien taunted, and he bounced all around Victoria, staying just outside her reach. Victoria raised her sword and stuck out at him, but Damien was quick; rolling out of the way.

"They danced around each other, exchanging blows, but Damien had forgotten about the tablet; and Victoria inched herself closer and closer to it until she was on top of it, grabbing it in her arms and dashing out the door. Damien followed her, hot on her heels, because he knew if he lost her the trouble would just start all over again. She headed straight for the long grass on the outskirts of the garden, and as he was giving chase Damien heard Dandy singing his silly victory song, oblivious to what was going on. But Samantha was smarter, and bounced out of her nest, hopping into Victoria's path to flap her wings and brandish her claws. If Dandy had helped, they might have been able to stop her, but the delay allowed Damien to catch up to her, and as she plunged into the thick foliage where she and Nathan used to live, he latched himself onto her back and followed her in. It was dark, and Damien couldn't know when it would open up, but he bravely held fast, biting and scratching at Victoria's skin to try and slow her down.

"Then the dense foliage stopped shaking and the ruckus from within stopped, and Dandy wailed; 'It's all over, Damien must be dead! Oh, poor, brave Damien! We must sing his death song. Noble Damien! He is dead! Victoria will surely kill him in her lair.'

"And sure enough, a little orb of green light floated out of the lair, and Dandy began his mournful song."

Leonel, for his part, was trying his very best to stay awake, so that he might hear for sure what happened to brave Damien. "Is he really dead, Mom?"

"No, dear," Dorothy said softly shaking her head, "for when Dandy got to the most touching part, Damien poked his little fluffy head out of the bushes, shook his wool out, and sneezed. 'It's over,' he said, 'she and Nathan will never bother us again.' Damien curled himself up where he was, and slept until the late afternoon, Dandy's new victory song lulling him to sleep.

"'Now,' he said once he had awoken, 'I will destroy that tablet and head back to the house. Dandy, go and contact Candie the Weegull. She'll tell everyone what happened.' And as Damien wandered back up the path, he heard Candie soaring ahead, screeching the news to all those below who would listen. This news sent all the monsters in the forest singing with joy; for Nathan and Victoria stole things from them as well, and generally made their lives hard to live.

"And when he got home, the family was still in the kitchen, and Tatiana's father came to him and nearly cried over him, and they gave him all he could ever want to eat. This time he enjoyed himself, stuffing himself full until he could eat no more, and enjoyed a nice night's sleep curled up next to Tatiana.

"Damien had every right to be proud, but he did not let it go to his head. He did what all good heroes do—he kept the forest and the family safe from all monsters who wished to disrupt the peace, and never again did another Goblin Master dare set foot near the house.

"And that, my dear, is the legend of the hero Damien the Woolly, who despite being small and relatively weak, had the courage to overcome that and become great," Dorothy whispered, and Leonel finally closed his eyes, yawning widely.

"That's great, Mom… I like Damien… he's cool…" he muttered, and Dorothy kissed his forehead again before standing up.

"Yes he is. Goodnight, honey."

.~.~.~.~.

The next day, Leonel finished his carving, under his father's supervision, of course. Barrett helped him sand down the rough edges and gave him some paint, and Leonel painted big blue eyes on his Woolly, naming it after the Damien in the story. To this day, he still keeps it with him—hidden in his pocket, as a reminder that even if you are weak on the outside, with a little bit of courage, everyone can become a hero.

.~.~.~.~.

A/N: And that's it! Haha, this… is just a lot longer than I intended it to be.

A Bonus you-are-extra-special cookie to whoever can tell me what the story Dorothy tells is based off of. It was one of my favorite stories when I was a kid—I had this huuuuge red book with gold-edged pages that had a ton of old folk, children's, and fairy tales in it, and this is by far one of my favorites out of it.

I will forever mourn the fact that my mother gave it away. ;3;

Obviously, many things have been changed: including the characters and their names and a few points for the sake of it being RF and not the actual story, but you should still be able to pick it out~ If you're really that curious and/or can't figure it out, the appropriate credit has been placed in my profile, under the section for the story.

Oh, and the part with how the portals work? I totally made that up. XD Just so you know.

PS: …And I just realized that is one epically long bedtime story. XDD Oh well.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

N'Oublier Jamais

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya, and I do not gain any profit from this little bit of fanfiction.

A/N: My first Hetalia fic, woohoo~ And yeah, it's late. ^^; This is intended for the Entente Cordiale*, which had its 106th anniversary on April 8th. Historical notes are at the bottom.

I really should be working on Duplicity, but I haven't had any urge to work on it, and when I found out what the 8th was I was like OMG MUST DO SOMETHING...and so I did. XD Enjoy this limey-lemon.

Warnings: Lemons ahead, so 18 and up plzkthnx. :D

N'Oublier Jamais

.~.~.~.~.

Of course he had forgotten. It was rather predictable, really; that stupid frog was probably out gallivanting about, seducing men and woman alike, or however else he spent his Thursday nights. England wouldn't put it past him to forget today of all days. It wasn't like it was all that important really—just the 106th anniversary of their alliance or something. Who cared? It was just a little agreement over a century ago that they would stop trying to kill each other, after all. Not that important or anything.

He wasn't upset. It was just as well—maybe finally he could have a peaceful evening for once, one spent catching up on his embroidery with a nice cup of tea or a scotch or two.

Or five or six as it turned out, as he soon found the bottle mostly drained and his mind fuzzy before the night really even began.

It was entirely that stupid frog's fault. He was going to have to teach him a lesson tomorrow about using calendars—and not the kind that were secretly documents for marriage. Frustrated as he pricked his finger for probably the fiftieth time that evening, he finally accepted his current lack of coordination and put his embroidery down and flicked on the television.

Finding nothing even remotely interesting—it seemed it was a night for America's idiotic reality shows—he flicked the tv back off with a despondent sigh. Maybe he should just go to bed…if he stayed up he would probably just drink until he passed out on the couch, and the mornings after that were never pleasant. Chewing out the Frenchman would be much more enjoyable if he didn't have a migraine the size of the rest of Europe the next morning.

He stumbled up the stairs, letting out a long string of curses when he missed a step and nearly fell. Letting himself into his bedroom and closing the door, he changed with mechanical, distracted movements and crawled into bed, curling up under the duvet.

It wasn't really fair. They always spent this day together, for the past 105 years. It was practically tradition. And now he seemed to have forgotten. Which, really, considering what usually happened every year, it was unusual, but maybe France found someone else more interesting. …Anyway, what did he care? It was not like he wanted him…

He could have called him, asked him where he was and why he wasn't here, but that would have sounded like he missed him or something, and that was definitely not the case. He would never miss that perverted frog.

Okay, maybe he missed him a little. And maybe he was a little hurt that he hadn't even gotten so much as a phone call from the man, he deserved at least a few minutes to say hello and 'happy anniversary', didn't he? He was practically a saint for having dealt with France and his wandering hands without strangling him to death for the past century; he deserved some sort of recognition! France knew he would never call him himself…

England let out another strained sigh, burying his face into the pillows. Screw France, he didn't need him. Ignoring the tightening in his throat, he took a deep breath and attempted to drift off to sleep. Belt up, he told himself. It's not like that bastard is your oldest friend and rival and means anything to you anyway. He's just a wine sipping, cheese eating pervert.

Denial was a much better companion than loneliness.

.~.~.~.~.

If England had fallen asleep, he swore it had only been for a few seconds. Glancing morosely at the clock on his bedside table, he was proven nearly correct: it had only been an hour since he had crawled into bed.

Considering he was still a little fuzzy from overdoing it on the drinking, he thought this a bit odd—usually he was near impossible to wake up when he was drunk. What possibly could have woken him up?

Just then, there was a loud creak behind him, in the direction of his bedroom door. He stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. Someone was in the house, and right outside his bedroom door! Tensing more as the floorboards creaked again, he turned as subtly as he could so he could see the door, ready to lash out at whoever decided to try and come in. Sure enough, the door opened slowly and silently, and in stepped a tall figure. He couldn't distinguish any features on the person due to the darkness—although he definitely looked like a man—but since his stance was relaxed, he figured he couldn't see him well either. He didn't seem to know that he was awake.

The figure approached the bed slowly, probably trying not to cause too much of a disturbance, and England tensed, preparing to lash out when the moonlight peeked through the clouds, casting the figure in pale light.

"F-Francis?!" England gasped, sitting up slightly in his bed, ignoring the way his heart jumped up in his chest at seeing him. France froze, long wavy blond locks glinting like gold in the moonlight, before straightening his posture and grinning, trying to put on his best innocent face.

"Ah, good evening, mon ami. I apologize; I didn't mean to startle you."

England's eyes narrowed, bushy eyebrows cinching together. "You didn't mean to startle me? Then what the bloody hell are you doing creeping into my bedroom in the middle of the night?! What are you doing here, anyway?" Where the hell have you been?

"Now, Angelterre, it's hardly the middle of the night; it's only half past ten. And since you decided to go to sleep before I could get here, I wanted to at least say goodnight…" he purred, leaning over England with a wicked smile that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

He retaliated by throwing a pillow in the Frenchman's face, who made a small 'oof' sound, and rolling over so his back was to him. "Fuck you. A phone call would have been fine, instead of breaking into my house. Now get out, I'm trying to sleep."

France's smile softened slightly before twisting into a sly smirk as he put the pillow back on the bed, leaning over so his face was just a small breadth's away from the shell of England's ear, hot breath tickling him slightly. Years of experience dealing with the man had taught him well how to tell when England really didn't want him around or when he was just being prideful and difficult. "But then I wouldn't be able to do this, mon petit lapin…" he whispered, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to the top of the Englishman's head. "Happy anniversary, Arthur."

England turned his head slightly, glancing back at France, green eyes glinting like emeralds in the moonlight. He really did remember. His heart was fluttering traitorously-lightly in his chest as he mumbled, "I… I thought you had f-forgotten."

France laughed lightly, soft and breathy. "Forget? Really, Angelterre," he gave him a rare warm smile, "forgetting you is completely impossible."

England only nodded slightly, not able to help the small smile that curled his lips. "Damn right." Relief welled up in his chest—he wasn't forgotten, not on this special day, not by the only man he could call an enemy, a friend, and a lover in the same breath. And when France crawled onto the bed and kissed him, he let him, reaching up and curling his fingers in his hair, soft as silk, pulling him closer. He gasped when France nibbled at his lip, prompting the blond to chuckle lightly. "Been drinking, have we? I can taste it on you…" he murmured, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck. England shivered when the stubble on the Frenchman's face brushed his skin, tickling and burning at the same time. He always liked that feeling, even though he denied it by constantly telling the Frenchman how unkempt it made him look.

"S-Shut up, you." He squirmed a little when France's hands ran down his chest, tracing around the buttons of his nightshirt before moving back up and beginning to unbutton them. "Like you have any right to talk, you always taste like wine…"

"Ahh, true, mon cher." He glanced up at him, blue eyes glinting with mischief up at England, before turning his attention to the now-revealed expanse of England's chest; kissing and licking a tender trail down to his navel as England watched with fascination. His touches were sensual, loving even; sending little pleasant tingles through his whole body with every caress. He bit back a moan when that hot mouth of his traveled back up to play with a nipple, involuntarily arching into the sensation.

"F-Francis…" England gasped when France teased the nub lightly with his teeth, sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine to swirl in his abdomen. His breathing picked up, hands clenching in the fabric of the back of France's shirt when he let the nipple go, moving on to the neglected one with a slow lick.

More. He wanted more from France, his France, more than just these tender touches. It didn't suit them to be so tender to each other, even in times when comfort was what they needed the most. After a moment he gripped him by the hair, forcibly pulling him up for a heated kiss. France responded eagerly, nipping and sucking and biting right back, a low groan pulling itself from his throat when England pulled him down on him, rubbing their crotches together. He ground down with no restraint, pulling a few moans from the Englishman himself.

England made quick work of the buttons of France's shirt, fingers still nimble despite his slight inebriation, and France shook it off his shoulders, tossing it to the floor. Again their lips locked, all teeth and tongue as each battled for control over the other, neither willing to back down. Despite a hundred and six years of relative peace between the two, they were still rivals, still enemies, and neither wanted to show weakness to the other, to be dominated by the other.

Showing the other any weakness would never be forgiven. One was not allowed to fall without the other's consent, without the other being the cause.

Then they'd be there to pick up the pieces, to build the other up again, and repeat the process. A never-ending cycle of destruction and reconstruction, of love and hate. They wouldn't have it any other way.

The duvet was pulled off and pushed out of the way, pants and socks and underwear discarded until they were naked as the day they came into being, and then they were on each other again, bruising grips combined with tender caresses as the sounds of their lovemaking echoed around the room. Skin sliding against skin, the smacking of lips, light, breathy moans as they pulled each other further into the throes of desire with every touch. Kisses grew more heated and desperate, tongues sliding roughly against each other; hands stroked each other's bodies until neither of them could stand the pressure coiling low in their abdomens, begging for release.

There was a click of a bottle being opened and closed, and slicked fingers found their way to England's entrance, poking and prodding teasingly at the quivering ring of muscle. England growled low in his throat, biting down on France's shoulder—hard enough to leave an angry mark, but not to make him bleed. It was a warning, telling France that he still was in control, despite being the one on the bottom. France wasn't getting anything out of him unless England wanted to let him. France hissed, pushing his index finger in with more force than was strictly necessary in retaliation, making England cry out.

"Fucking…bastard…frog…" England grunted against his neck, blunt nails digging into the Frenchman's shoulder blade, but he did nothing else as France added a second finger before pulling back to give him a cheeky grin.

"You started it, rosbif," he said as he started to scissor and thrust them inside him, and England only managed a half-hearted glare before France hit just that right spot.

"F-Fuck…" England groaned as sparks of color danced across his vision, blurring the image of France above him, long wavy hair mussed, lust darkening those sinfully blue eyes. France moaned when England clenched down on his fingers, eagerly anticipating being buried in the tight heat his fingers were currently occupying. He pressed a third finger in, and probably a little too quickly—England grunted in discomfort below him, digging his fingers painfully into his back again. But the discomfort quickly gave way to pleasure when France spread his fingers out, brushing against his sweet spot again, and soon England was panting in his grasp, rolling his hips around his fingers, trying his hardest to get France to touch it again and again.

Soon, too soon, the fingers were gone, and England just barely had the clarity of thought to bite back the whine that threatened to spill forth—he didn't want France to know just how desperate he was for his touch, for some release. The bottle of lubricant was in France's hands again, and England watched as he squirted some out into his hand before closing the bottle and throwing it off to the side. A shiver went up the Frenchman's spine when he slicked himself down, both from the chill and in anticipation, and he positioned himself between England's legs, the tip of his penis just touching his entrance.

A quick nod was all he needed before he pressed himself inside until he was buried to his balls, groaning into England's mouth when he smashed their lips together into a bruising kiss. England twitched and trembled around him, muscles protesting the intrusion with soft flutters and hard contractions, threatening to push the Frenchman over the edge.

He'd had sex with many; both human and nation alike, but he always preferred sex with England. England could drive him crazy like no other. He would never admit it aloud, but it was true.

Breaking the kiss to breathe, England took in a deep breath as France moaned headily in his ear, muttering incoherently in French. "Move," he ordered, and France saw no reason to disobey him, pulling out before slamming himself back in. Again and again, France pulled in and out, moving slightly each time to find that special spot that would turn England into a wild panting puddle of mush in his arms, grinding wantonly against him. With practiced ease he found it, England shouting his appreciation, fingers curling and uncurling in pleasure around his neck.

Again and again France hit his prostate dead on, wiping England's mind of all coherent thought except the Frenchman above him and the pleasure rocking through his body like the ocean batters a ship in a storm. This storm increased in ferocity when France curled his hand around his dripping erection, calloused but still soft fingers teasing the tip before pumping up and down in time with his thrusts.

"Aahn… Arthur…" moaned France, his movements gradually growing more erratic and desperate as he pushed further into oblivion, England clenching down on him with every thrust, driving closer and closer to the edge. But he was determined to make England come first, part out of pride and part as apology for his tardiness, for making England think that he could ever forget his oldest friend and enemy. Not on such a day.

Because that was well and truly impossible. An agreement that turned millennia of hate into a century of relatively peaceful co-existence and friendship—if you could call it that, anyway—wasn't something to be taken so lightly.

France plunged himself as hard as he could into England, earning him a hoarse cry as England came, clenching wonderfully tightly around him as he spurted into his hand and onto their stomachs. "Francis!"

Hearing his name cried out so hotly into his ear was more than enough to finally drive France over the edge, and he came with a shudder inside England, riding out his orgasm with a few more thrusts as England writhed under him, shaking with pleasure as well. In a sweaty heap they collapsed together, breathing heavily as they came down from their highs. France nuzzled affectionately against England, who snorted, but let him anyway, running his fingers through the Frenchman's hair. He was entirely too tired to do anything about it, and he had to admit it kind of felt nice to feel his weight against him, anchoring him down.

France always was the one anchoring him down, preventing his ego from soaring too high by taking him down a few notches when he needed it. They kept each other in check.

"Happy 106th anniversary of the Entente Cordiale, mon lapin belle," France whispered against his shoulder, trailing a hand down his chest. England colored slightly at the compliment, before twining his fingers with the hand on his chest with a sigh.

"Happy anniversary, frog."

Never forget.

.~.~.~.~.

*Historical Notes: The Entente Cordiale was a series of agreements signed on April 8th, 1904, between the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and the French Republic. It managed to settle disagreements between the two countries about their colonies in North America, Africa, and Asia; and began the (relatively) peaceful co-existence that the two have had together to this day. (This is ignoring a couple of incidents, of course, the biggest being during World War II; but those were considered necessary because of the circumstances by the British and France really didn't have much say in the matter at the time.) This ended just about a millennium of wars with small periods of peace between the two. Considering both the countries reached the peak of their empires of the time under the agreement, you can see how influential it is. These guys really do work better working together rather than against each other. :)

Anyway… I hope that you enjoyed this, and thanks for reading! I'm also terribly sorry it was so late… I really shouldn't try and write something after finding out the day of. XD; It never works out.

Edit: I received a correction on the title where this is posted on FFN this morning, because I am full of fail and do not know any French except what I've picked up from the internet. ^^; Damn you online translators for giving me something wrong. D: Oh well. :) So anyway, I edited it to reflect the change.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Rune Haven Contest Entry for March: Photo Album

Disclaimer: I do not own Rune Factory 2 or any of the characters presented in this work of fanfiction.

A/N: This is my poor, last minute attempt at coming up with something for Rune Haven's contest for this month, the theme of which this time is "Embarrassment." I literally thought this up the morning of March 30th, started writing it that evening, and finished it JUST NOW, just in time for the deadline. XD; I probably would have done something earlier, but I had a bunch of huge exams the past few weeks and all my time was consumed by studying and playing Soul Silver. XD iFail. Well, enjoy~ I apologize in advance if there's any errors; I didn't exactly have much time to edit… I'll fix it later.

Photo Album

.~.~.~.~.

"Max, are you in here?" Ray called, opening the door to Max's bedroom and poking his head in. The blond had asked him to meet him after he got off work, but now he was nowhere to be found. Ray had checked Cherry Blossom Square, the de Sainte-Coquille Park, the pier, Julia's bath house, everywhere he could think of that Max would be, and he still had not found him.

He had already checked Max's room, of course, but he had come back hoping that he had somehow missed his friend and would find him there—and if not, then he would just wait there until he did. Ray sighed, dropping himself onto the edge of the bed. Just where could he have disappeared to, anyway? There weren't a whole lot of places for him to escape unnoticed in Alvarna—not that Max ever went anywhere unnoticed anyway—but there just wasn't anywhere for him to hide away, so where could he possibly have gone?

Since he couldn't find him, there really wasn't any point in running around town for the rest of the evening, so he would just wait there for him. It was his bedroom after all; he would have to show up eventually. So he waited. And waited. And waited some more. Max still didn't show up.

Ray sighed exasperatedly, standing up and stretching his limbs. Maybe he should go and ask his sister if she knew where Max was. She always seemed to have an uncanny ability to know where everyone was at any given time…

He was about to leave when something on the desk caught his eye. Upon closer inspection, he found it to be a photo album, leather-bound and open, the pages fluttering in the strong breeze coming in from the open window across the room—the movement being the reason it caught his attention in the first place. He smiled fondly, flipping through the pages as he caught sight of pictures of when he and Max were little. One depicted the two of them running around in the Square, another below it of them playing a game with a young Barrett, and another with Max and Rosalind smiling brightly into the camera—Max's smile was proud and boasting like always, while Rosalind's was much more reserved and delicate.

Feeling nostalgia well up in his chest, he continued flipping through the album, letting the memories filter through his mind, until he found one that broke him out of the moment with a sharp shot of abject horror.

Slipped into a page near the back of the book was a picture he never knew even existed, and had hoped never had in the first place. It was a picture of him, when he was about five years old, standing pigeon-toed near the front desk of the Clinic and looking mournfully at the camera, biting his nails. This fact wasn't what upset Ray, of course—the scene would have been cute, if it wasn't for one thing.

He was wearing a dress. A terribly pink, frilly, lace-trimmed dress. He even had white stockings and little pink shoes adorning his tiny feet and a bow in his hair.

He knew that his mother had delighted in his feminine features when he was little and had dressed him up in all manner of feminine attire when he was too little to know better, but he had no idea Max, of all people, owned a picture of it. And it filled him with a feeling of dread.

He was just about to snatch the picture from the album (delightfully entertaining the idea of burning it later as he did so) when the door slammed open, making him jump in surprise. He hurriedly spun around to find Max standing in the doorway, staring at him quizzically with a paper-wrapped package in his hand.

"Ray? What are you doing here?"

"Uh…" he fumbled for words, still distracted by the embarrassing picture sitting innocently in the album behind him. "Y-You told me you wanted to m-meet with me after I got off of work. I've been looking all over for you, where have you been?" he said quickly, trying his best to step backwards in a way that wouldn't be noticed by the blonde, toward the album.

"…I did…?" Max said thoughtfully, staring off into space as he tried to remember. Ray's frown rapidly turned into a scowl; too distracted by the need to take the picture and put it somewhere where it would never be found again. He clasped his hands behind his back, trying to sneak his hand back and take the photo without him seeing—he had to get it back before Max focused his attention back on him.

"Yes. You did, this morning. How could you forget?" Max was still silent for a minute more before leveling his gaze with Ray, looking sheepish and apologetic, and Ray froze, hand just brushing the sharp edge of the waxy paper. So close!

"I apologize, dear Ray, but I must have gotten distracted. I had a very important package arrive, you see, but the mail carrier had a bit of trouble on the way… what are you doing?"

"N-Nothing!" Ray said, snatching his hand back to rest behind his back with the other, bemoaning the guilty squeak the response carried. Yeah, that wasn't obvious.

Max's curious expression slid quickly into a sly, knowing smirk, and he sauntered over to where Ray stood, attempting to peek around him. "Really? You seem to be hiding something. What could it possibly be—ah." He chuckled, and Ray's cheeks dusted bright pink as Max found the album sitting opened to the offending photograph he had previously been trying to snatch. "I see you found it."

"Give it to me," Ray demanded, holding his hand out determinedly. He was going to get that picture, one way or another.

Max's grin grew bigger, his blue eyes taunting him. "No. You see, I quite adore that photograph; you really do pull off the dress well. I couldn't imagine parting with it." Ray blushed darker, which made Max laugh, which in turn made Ray blush even darker in irritation and embarrassment.

"I don't want you to have it. Give it to me," Ray repeated, willing his blush to go down and shaking his head. He was not going to be deterred.

Max hummed thoughtfully for a moment, for a second letting Ray believe he was considering it, but of course, it wouldn't be true. "How about a trade, then?"

"A trade?" Ray asked, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of trade?"

"A simple one, really. You let me keep the photograph, and I'll give you this." Max smiled brightly, holding out the paper-wrapped package he had arrived with, previously forgotten. "I had originally intended it for a different occasion, but it will do, it is for you. I'll have you know it took me a long time to find someone willing to make it to my specifications…" he rambled on about how much trouble he had gone through to get it—Ray tuned him out in favor of staring at the package, wondering what it could be.

"What is it?" he asked once Max had paused in his monologue, which caused the blond to brighten up so quickly it almost hurt his eyes.

"Why, you'll just have to open it to see, won't you?" He handed the package over to Ray, who stared at it curiously for a moment before deciding he might as well open it and see what it was. He could always refuse the… trade…

His jaw dropped as he looked in horror as the present unfolded in his hands. He couldn't believe it. It was an exact replica of the dress in the photo—although much larger, big enough to fit him now. In fact, it nearly looked tailored to fit him.

"Ah, amazed, aren't we? Aren't you glad? I know you'll look just dashing in it, you looked so adorable in it when you were little-"

Ray threw the dress at him, cheeks burning red enough to rival the color of one of Kyle's tomatoes. Max just laughed.

"No, I refuse!"

"Aww, but I went through so much trouble to get it. Won't you please wear it? You'd look quite beautiful, you know," he said lightly, eyes sparkling with mirth. He was enjoying this, Ray could tell.

"You're out of your mind."

"Aren't we all?" Max laughed, "Please? Do it for me?"

"No."

Hours later, Ray would be in the dress, cursing his very existence. Why, oh why, did he have to be born 'girly'? And why did Max have to be so damn persuasive? It just wasn't fair. His life just wasn't fair.

But, although he would never admit it out loud, he did look kind of nice... and then he quickly slapped himself mentally for even thinking such a thing. Max was corrupting him.

.~.~.~.~.

A/N: Aha! I have successfully made Ray crossdress. I had to do it eventually; he's just too adorable to NOT want to put in girly frilly dresses and tie his hair up in cute bows. No one can resist. 8D (Is it just me, or does the image of Ray in a frilly pink dress scream LOVELY JAILBAIT?)

But gah, I kind of hate it. Sorry guys, I guess this is what I get for trying to force something out last minute. XD;; The ending fails the most, I just couldn't figure out what I wanted to do, and thus had no ending. It just stopped because I got tired of writing it and I only had an hour left before the deadline. Bawwwww.

Or maybe I'm just in my initial 'everything I write sucks' mood that happens whenever I write something initially, and I'll look on this later and be all 'that was actually pretty damn good'. Who knows?

Rune Factory 2: One Hundred Themes 036: Smell

Warnings: Rated mid-to-high T. Not going to tell you what for, though, because that would ruin it. :D

Characters: Kyle and Rosalind.

Rune Factory 2: 100 Themes

Theme 036: Smell

.~.~.~.~.

Her smell reminded him of spring.

Like newly-cut dew-covered grass and fresh water bubbling down from the mountains. Like the flowers that grew around town—Pink Cats and Toyherbs, like the cherry blossoms in the Square, or maybe like that elusive and beautifully golden Emery Flower he had recently managed to grow after seasons of work.

Yes, an Emery Flower would suit her well, he thinks. Its golden leaves shimmered in the sunlight like the emeralds of her eyes: precious things to be cherished (he could lose himself in them if he ever got the chance to gaze into them long enough). It stood tall and regal, golden tendrils reaching up to the sun and enrapturing all who saw it, just like her (he couldn't keep his eyes off of her whenever she was in the room).

It was perfect… (just like her).

There wasn't anything he wanted—no, needed—more.

As he tended to his crops, he thought of her. When he was caring for his monsters in the barn, brushing and collecting their produce, he thought of her. When he was lying in bed, late at night, the only noise a hooting owl outside and the shuffling of his limbs under the sheets, he thought of her.

He couldn't get her out of his head. Her long, silky-looking sky blue hair (so, so soft, the thought of running his fingers through it made him quiver), her slender, dainty hands tipped with lacquered nails (so, so smooth, imagining how they would feel against his skin made him grow oh so hot), the brilliance of her smile (those lips, he wanted to kiss them until they bruised), the soft angles of her frame (so perfectly shaped, he wanted to run his hands down it). He had only known her for a few seasons, and already she had completely captured his heart and soul. He loved her so much he couldn't stand it, not anymore.

She would be his. There was no other possible conclusion, he was confident of that. He had already come up with a plan. He had spent days perfecting it—endlessly going over every minute detail, every possibility of something going wrong (not like it would, but it never hurt to be prepared for everything), and thinking and planning out every moment. This was his masterpiece; she was a masterpiece (like the Emery Flower he had picked just hours before, sitting serenely in a vase on the kitchen table, glittering in the orange glow of the firelight), and nothing could go wrong. He was almost giddy with excitement: it would happen tomorrow. There was just one more thing he had to prepare, and he would be ready.

He sat on the hearth in the light of the fire, the only sounds in the house the ghostly hooting of the owl outside, the scraping of metal against metal, and the occasional giggle that ripped itself from his throat.

She was his, and there was no harm in taking what belonged to him, right?

.~.~.~.~.

A/N: This was actually really fun to write, aha. It has been a long time since I've tried anything other than your typical schmoopy-woopy romance/falling in love scene. :D While fluff is nice and all, it feels good to do something different.

Rune Haven Writing Contest February Entry: Confidence

A/N: So this is really late. I forgot again, if you couldn't tell. But I have written things the past few days (unfortunately, nothing relating to Duplicity, but hey, it's writing) so expect a few more posts in the next few minutes.

Confidence

.~.~.~.~.

Kyle straightened up, stretching backwards and slinging his hoe over his shoulder when he heard the light sound of giggling behind him. He turned around, spotting his young children, Aria and Aaron, running towards him—his wife, Dorothy, chasing after them frantically.

"Daddy!" Aria shouted with glee, launching herself at him and attaching herself around his waist. Aaron did something similar around his leg, and the combination nearly knocked him over.

"Woah! Hi there, kiddos, what are you two up to?" He laughed, ruffling Aria's hair with his free hand.

"We were playing with Mommy, but we want to play with you too!" Aaron said, beaming up at him.

"Yeah, play with us, Daddy! Play with us!" Aria chimed in, letting go to jump up and down in front of him. "Please please please! It'll be lots of fun!"

Kyle chuckled, smiling down at his children. "Sounds like fun, but I'm working right now—hi, honey," he replied, greeting her as Dorothy finally caught up, breathing heavily.

"Aria, Aaron! Your father is working now, don't bother him…" she scolded breathlessly, to which the twins responded with a collective groan.

"But—!"

"No buts! Come on, you two," Dorothy rebuked, but the twins stayed put, turning back to their father.

"Please Daddy, we wanna play with you!" Aaron protested, but Kyle shook his head.

"Listen to your mother. I promise I can play with you when I'm done," he said, and the twins nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"Alright, as long as you promise!" Aria yelled and quickly ran back to her mother, Aaron hot on her heels. Kyle watched with an amused chuckle as she grabbed their hands and practically dragged them back into the house against their will, saying something about them helping her clean.

"Dorothy sure has changed, hasn't she?" Kyle spun around to find Douglas walking up the path with a smile on his face, headed for the shipping box. "She sure handles those kids well."

"You think?" Kyle mused, resuming his work. Douglas nodded, although he didn't see it.

"You know what she used to be like. She used to be so shy she could barely get a word out before stuttering to a stop or getting scared and running away. But she just told those kids off and dragged them away no problem."

Kyle paused for a second, glancing back at the house where he was sure he heard something crash and clatter and the sound of the twins shouting and giggling. "You're right. She has gotten a lot more confident than she used to be." He smiled, thinking back. The shy, timid Dorothy was the woman he had fallen in love with and married, but he thought he liked this version of her too.

.~.~.~.~.

A/N: …Well, it fits the theme, anyway. XD I'm not sure how I feel about it, honestly, but here it is! This is my contest entry for Rune Haven's February contest, the theme being "reminiscence." Obviously, it was all very last minute, lol. I wish it could have been longer than what it is, but I honestly had no ideas, and I wanted to participate, so. :P Thank you for reading~