#its only like 2200 words and it was supposed to be quick and fun and sweet

[good-beanswrites]

You ever have a fic that just fights you tooth and nail and you're just there like WHATEVER if you're bad it's on YOU at this point not me!!! 😂

[dzamie-oc]

03 - Steampunk

I’ll admit, this is a bit reductionist for a punk story, but gimme a break, I wrote this in only a few hours :P

Length: 2200 words Rating: T (mild description of blood and death) Summary: A factory worker makes a dragon. They grow up together and eventually enact a little bit of class warfare and a little bit of revenge.

-----

Finn’s desk was half covered in a pile of assorted junk - gears, pipes,twisted bits of scrap metal, keys for long-dead springs, and so much more, almost all tarnished, covered in coal soot, or both. However, his attention was focused on the other half, a carefully cleared space with only a few mechanical pieces strewn about, all polished to perfection. Most importantly, in the middle, sat a small, mechanical device of his own creation. Its body was unfinished, exposing much of its inner workings to the naked eye - and the elements, if he let it get that far. A head like a mix of a lizard and a dog, a long, flexible neck, a body that one might mistake for a large, metallic rat’s, and a slender tail which ended in a thin, metal cone. The young teen, with a degree of care unusual to someone with such a rat’s nest of hair, delicately positioned his creation to lay on its back, curled its legs in, and gently inserted a brass key into a particular, well-shaped hole in its chest. Once, twice... three times he turned, for luck.

Through the background din of machinery, he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps and froze. Reflexively, his free hand flew to the ignored pile of scraps, then slowly dragged one over, taking just long enough for him to listen to the footsteps pass by and once more out of earshot. Finn let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, furtively glanced left and right, just in case, and removed the wound key.

Gears and wheels began to spin with a soft whirr, and a look of wonderment spread across Finn’s face as the mechanical legs twitched, then cycled in the air. Its head lifted, letting him stare into its dark eyes, no longer as lifeless as they’d always seemed to be.

“Hey, little guy,” the boy said, “welcome to the world. I’m Finn. I almost hate to dump this on you, but... look, in case I can’t, keep wound, and keep hidden. I wish I could show everyone how cool you clearly are, but-”

Suddenly, more footsteps. Footsteps he recognized, and recognized well. Finn hissed an apology to the dragon and quickly covered it with the nearby metal bowl he’d kept its parts in, then grabbed a part from the pile and set about rubbing it with a rag nearly as filthy as the part. A valve, he realized after his first pass of rubbing - after so many years, his hands knew how to move without thinking, or even realizing what was in them. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and Finn scrubbed at the metal. With a sigh, he wondered if he’d just gotten it dirtier. He went to pass it ahead into a bucket of valves, when-

“Finnegan Shine!” came the shrill voice of a woman who thought herself far more cultured than she knew she could even aspire to. “Just what are you doing with that thing?”

Finn’s “good afternoon, Ms. Springwarden” was cut off by her question, so he looked at the metal in his hand. “I’m... putting it with the other valves after cleaning it?”

Ms. Springwarden harrumphed. “Cleaning it! Just what HAS that first-shift supervisor been teaching you?” She looked at the valve - and at Finn - with a sneer. Finn always thought that, if disdain was an Olympic sport, Ms. Springwarden would have enough gold to live somewhere nice and stop tormenting him - although, he had to admit, perhaps she would still torment him for the fun of it. “Why, I can barely tell it apart from that filthy pile!”

The boy put on a puzzled expression. “Really? But I’ve been going at it with my cleanest rag for a solid minute,” he lied. Of all the people in Alma Vera, she was the last person he ever wanted to even consider the existence of his hidden project. Still, he held up three more well-used cloths, to show her that at least part of his claim had been true.

Another harrumph. “And not once did you think that, just maybe, you ought to trade them for washed cleaning equipment?”

“But Ms. Springwarden, I thought I wasn’t allowed to leave my chair during my shift?”

“Foolish child,” the woman replied, and brought her hand towards his forehead, finger primed to flick. At the last second, however, Finn saw a look of disgust, and she withdrew so as not to touch his, charitably, under-washed face. “Rise and follow me. But don’t let me catch you out of your seat without my permission!”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden!” Finn said, and stood. The four dirty rags were exchanged for four clean ones, or at least as clean as would pass at his work. Thus equipped, Finn was returned to his seat - the bowl still overturned, to his relief.

Ms. Springwarden crossed her arms and said, “who knows how many valuable components you’ve ruined with your folly. You do remember our motto, do you not?”

Finn nodded. “Quality and quantity, Ms. Springwarden.”

The woman harrumphed yet again, and picked up two of the buckets he had sorted parts into, and dumped them into the assorted pile. “Well, let us now remedy your mistake. You will have to clean each of these now befouled pieces once again, and be quick about it!” She glared at him. “Your work ends when your pile is gone, and not a second, nor a part, sooner.”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden.”

Finn returned to his task, and after a few seconds, he heard one last derisive snort, and then footsteps trailing away. The boy dramatically picked up his pace once she was gone, and before long, he had undone the damage to his progress she had inflicted on him. Another look left and right, and he placed his hands on the bowl, praying that the dragon truly was still there.

“Hey, it’s me,” he whispered, so the dragon wouldn’t try to hide. When he revealed the metallic creature, it had its forepaw in its chest, twisting the mechanism inside. Once finished, it looked up at him and swished its tail, accompanied by the soft, metallic whirring of gears. “That was Ms. Springwarden. They say that, somewhere out there, at least three people are unable to make that ‘hmph’ sound, because she’s using all of theirs.” The dragon leaned its head down, opened its jaws, and picked up a twisted bit of scrap metal, then shook it around a bit, which got a chuckle out of Finn. “It’s too bad you’re not as big as the dragons I’ve heard the people who live on airships have. You could just eat her, then. Although, I wouldn’t have been able to hide you while I built you.”

The clockwork creature flicked its head and sent the scrap flying through the air, to land in the discard bucket. “Fast learner,” Finn remarked. “So, you need a name. I think... Eve.” He paused. “It’s not weird to name you after an elementary school crush, is it?”

Eve responded by tossing another bit of scrap into the bucket, then wiping her mouth on his hand.

-----

Finn prowled through the dense pipework of the underground, eyes peeled for the rats he was supposed to exterminate. In one hand, he held a bag full of rodent corpses - his proof for payment. The other hand gripped what might charitably be called a tiny harpoon launcher. It looked similar to a certain toy gun, popular among the children of wealthy families, and that was no accident - although he would have the kid he stole it from think otherwise. With a bit of tinkering, a wire to save on ammunition, and a much better spring, Finn considered himself the second best at this sort of job, something that led people to avoid asking too much about the improvised tool.

A squeak cut short, then rapid metal-on-metal clanking heralded the arrival of the first best at this sort of job. Eve trotted up to him, two dead rats in her mechanical jaws. Over the past five years or so, Finn had found or fashioned bigger replacement parts for his dragon until she stood nearly at his waist. Long since unable to hide her under a bowl, of course, the story now was that she was a defective mechanical dog he had scored for a pittance. Regardless, Eve stood attentively next to him, waiting for him to open the bag for her. When he did, one rat fell into the pile of its brethren, and as for the other...

Eve tossed and flicked her head until the rodent’s body aligned with her jaws. A new whirring noise kicked in as sets of wheels dragged it down her metal throat, and then a sickening grinding sound bounced around the pipes and fixtures. The dragon opened her mouth again and wiped it on his pants leg, to his mild dismay.

“You’re gonna have to drop that habit, or I’ll put you back on winding-only.”

Eve went still for a few seconds, but the gentle whirring of her insides picked up. When she moved again, she brought one upturned forepaw in front of the other, then cycled them around each other, and finally tapped her throat.

“Break a habit for a voice?” Finn asked. “Eve, voices are hard to come by. You know I would’ve gotten you one by now if I could.”

The sound of a much smaller creature skittering along the metal ground caught both of their attentions. Finn spun, aimed, and pulled the trigger, and a barbed, pointed pole flew from the tip of his weapon, with metal wire following shortly after. The rat screamed a squeaky scream, then fell quiet, and Finn reeled in his shot and prize.

Eve pressed her paw against his leg for his attention. She pointed her muzzle at the gun, then curled back at her own chest, and then she once again tapped her paw to her neck with an insistent clank-clank-clank. Finn furrowed his brow. “I’m pretty sure voice boxes are in a league of their own...” he started, then smiled broadly at her. “Then again, so am I. Mind giving up more than half your rats from now on, so we can go shopping for anything we can’t find?”

The dragon’s metal plating rattled against itself as she wiggled in anticipation, then bounded off to massacre more vermin.

-----

It was a glorious ceremony. Everyone sported their most elaborate suits and dresses, all in a modest brown. Some of the more adventurous gentlemen had constantly-turning gears on the hats they politely kept in their laps, but no longer were they nor their headwear the center of attention. Ms. Springwarden, soon to lose that name, stood in a beautiful, ornate, white dress, and stared adoringly at the man standing in front of her, who-

BOOM!

A shout rose up from the crowd as what used to be a wall was replaced by a hole and a dragon. The elaborate mechanical creature’s outer plating was a mismatch of bronze, iron, and steel, as though it had been dressed in a junkyard. And perched on its back was a man with a daring grin, who Ms. Springwarden found strangely familiar...

“Well! Ms. Springwarden, aren’t you moving up! The big boss himself, I wonder if you’ll outlast  his last four wives!” Finn shouted as he dismounted the dragon, landing with a roll and ending up right next to the bride-to-be.

Without opening her mouth, Eve spoke. “I am confident he will be her husband for the rest of his life,” she said. Her voice was unnatural, amateurish, and it sounded like it belonged in some sterile, form-over-function research lab, rather than a well-tuned dragon. Before anyone could react, she opened her jaws and snapped up the stunned man, soon feeding him to the wheels hidden behind her neck plating.

“Aw! Eve! I had planned this whole quip about how his factories have a great quantity of people and I’m about to increase the average quality!”

“So lie in your memoir.”

Many of the guests had fled the scene, with only a few hiding behind the benches, and Ms. Springwarden herself remained frozen to the spot. “Wh- who...?”

Finn swept into a deep bow, mockingly low. “Finnegan Shine, Ms. Springwarden. My friends call me Finn, but of course you never did. You may not remember me, and I sorely wish I could say the same. But now then...” He stepped backwards towards Eve, who lowered her head and opened her jaws. Finn leaned against her neck, feeling the whirr of the wheels making up her throat thrumming through her metal body. “They say marriage is for better or worse, right? What say you join your hubby in the ‘worse?’”

Eve’s distorted voice joined in once more, saying, “I remember you. That he is offering you a refusal is far more than I would have.”

The woman - having found a worse fate than being left at the altar - took a step back, shaking her head. “No... no. Please, no.”

To everyone’s surprise, the dragon snapped her mouth shut with a loud crash of metal, and Finn clambered back up onto her back. “Then it’s a damn lucky thing I’m not you, miss,” the man said, before the pair of them escaped through the dragon-sized hole in the wall.

Finn hugged Eve’s neck tight. One down, an unfortunate number to go. He just hoped his friends were having as much fun as he was.

[ikefool]

Giving in -Part 1

Summary: While solving a case with Arthur, things thake an unexpected turn, both in this mystery and in your relationship.

Rating: Explicit, mature. EXTREMELY spicy.  DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER. This chapter does not include spice but IT WILL in the near future

Pairing: IkeVamp Arthur x Reader

Word Count: 2200

A/N: Sorry for the lack of spice but it was getting too long. This was supposed to be a one-shot...

Masterlist

The light from the morning sun hits the shop’s window, breaking into beams and sparkling shapes. It hits the jewels under the glass counter and refracts into tiny little spots of colored light.

“Something like this?” says the shop’s owner. His rough, aged hands delicately handle the sapphire pendant, the movement sends dots of light dancing all over his wrinkled face. “Hm, this’d have to be purchased some time ago, were they twins?”

“Twin jewels, yes, according to the original owner. But the other stone was set onto a hairpin” You turn to look outside while the old man examines the pendant. You glance at the tree where you had last seen your partner, but he’s no longer there. Puzzled, you stand up straighter, trying not to be so obvious as you strain your neck this way and that, squinting to see if you can spot him nearby.

“Well, I can’t really be sure just by looking at it, but I have a couple of lenses in the back that might help… mademoiselle?”

You blink at him “Hm? Oh! Yes of course, that would be very helpful, monsieur” you smile at him, but he’s already heading to the back of the shop with the sapphire in hand, murmuring faintly about craftsmanship and american silver.

While he’s gone you walk away from the counter and closer to the window. The tree is still deserted, and a quick scan of the square’s benches is fruitless. It’s still far too early for the couples to show up, and aside from the odd shopper and small family, the small park is practically empty. 

Where the hell is he? ‘Oh, you’ll do fine on your own, luv’ this ‘It would look odd if I went in’ that. You’re starting to suspect he’d just up and left you to do all the work. You huff, already planning on smacking him upside the head when you next see him. You live in the same mansion, he can’t evade you for long.

“It’s just as you said, this was made in an american shop” you leave your post by the window and walk back to the counter, plastering on a friendly smile. If Arthur insists on leaving you, you’ll just have to solve this case on your own. “The stamp is european though, specifically parisian. It was stamped just a few months ago. Strange, pearl is more fashionable these days. The jewel is much older, maybe a heirloom? I’m afraid that is all I can tell you.”

“Not at all, monsieur, you have been very helpful.” The old man’s already small eyes nearly disappear under his wrinkles when he smiles. 

“The pleasure was all mine, mademoiselle.”

You quickly pay the man for the consultation and then, after placing the pendant carefully back in its velvet pouch, head outside. 

The wind sweeps your hair to one side as soon as you close the door to the small shop, and you use your gloved hand to brush it away. You look to both sides before deciding to sit on a nearby bench to write down your findings. Arthur may be able to keep all the information in his head, but you find it easier to keep it compiled in a notebook in case you need it later. As you place your bag to one side of you and rummage through it for your small moleskine notebook, you hear a chorus of giggles from nearby. 

You turn to look, and notice a small group of young women crowding around someone. You can see only the top of the man’s head, but that much is enough. You scoff and return to your notebook. Of course he had not abandoned you, he’d just gotten swept away by a flock of pretty girls. Typical. And of course he’s just loving the attention, telling them a fantastic story of one of his many adventures, judging by the impressed looks the women are giving him.

Covering your mouth to hide your laugh, you return to your notebook. You write down what the jeweler had told you before snapping it shut and putting it back in your bag. Your next stop is not far away, but you should get Arthur before leaving. As much as you would like to leave him here and go there yourself, you don’t know the exact address. You sigh heavily and walk over to the growing number of women, all of them paying rapt attention. It would honestly be impressive, if it weren’t so annoying.

“And just like that! The lost puppy was reunited with its owner, all in a day’s work” The girls all gasp and coo, the flurry of movement sending a cloud of flowery perfume up into the air.  

“All in a day’s work?!” You exclaim, peeking from behind a girl’s tall curly hairdo. “And how ever did you manage that, monsieur?” He turns to you, smile radiant, ready to tell you all about it. And then he notices just who you are, and the way your hands rest on your hips. His smile falters for just a second.

“Oh um, well, I had my lovely assistant with me, of course! Terribly sorry ladies, but I have to go now. You know how it goes, bye now.” He steps between the now pouting ladies, carefully avoiding the hems of their skirts. He grabs you by the arm along the way, pulling you with him until you’re in the clear. 

“My lovely assistant? What are you, Arthur, a detective or a magician?” You look up at him, eyebrows raised. You’re walking beside him on the cobbled street, now far enough from the square that the only sounds are the occasional chirping of birds and the click of your steps.

“Well, you caught me off guard, darling.”

“You!? The great writer-slash-detective?! The one and only Arthur Conan Doyle?! Paris’ great hero?! Caught off-”

“Hah! Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?” You glare at him ”Alright, I get it. I shouldn’t have left you alone at the shop.” You glare at him some more “And… I shouldn't have wandered off.”

You sigh, clasping your hands behind your back. As you walk you notice a small pebble in the road, you kick it softly with the tip of your shoe. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want, Arthur. If you want to go to the square and chat up an entire gaggle of pretty, young parisian ladies then you can do so. Just don’t give me excuses like ‘You would look less suspicious going into the shop’” You say, making air quotes at him. “I actually happen to care about solving these cases.”

Arthur places a hand on your shoulder and sprints a few steps until he’s facing you, he walks backwards in front of you. You frown, you weren't expecting the giant grin on his face “Wait a second, are you jealous? Oh, I knew you had a thing for me!” The pebble you had been kicking goes flying and falls down a drain.

“I’m not jealous, you impossible idiot man, I’m angry! I hate feeling like you’re just using me as an excuse to go out and… and flirt! You rope me in under the pretense of solving a case and then you leave me alone to do all the work while you go hang around and enjoy yourself!” Your cheeks burn with anger, Arthur’s smile drops. “I guess I’m the idiot, huh? Since I still come along with you and play lovely assistant while you have your fun. So stupid.” You cross your arms and push past him, glaring at the ground, for some reason there’s a knot in your throat.

“Hey, no, darling...” He pleads, racing to catch up with you, you roll your eyes. “You’re right. You’re not stupid, okay? I’m the idiot.” You stay silent “I’m an idiot and a scoundrel and… Please look at me?” You stop and look up at him, still glaring “I’m sorry, I do want to solve this case. And what I said about you going into the shop was still the truth, but I also wanted you to go on your own because I thought… listen, you’re practically solving this one on your own. You’re doing amazing, and I wanted to step back a little and give you some space to work, thought maybe I’d get to play lovely assistant this time around.” He sighs, smiling shyly at the ground while he rakes a hand through his wind-swept hair. “Guess I stepped back a little too far, though.”

You look at him for a moment while he fidgets nervously. “Fine, apology accepted.” Arthur sags in relief. “Just… I’d like to actually work together on this.”

“Yes! Of course.” You walk together in silence for a few moments until Arthur speaks again “So, I’m completely forgiven, am I?” You look at him, suspicious at his tone “Does that mean I get a ‘you’re forgiven’ kiss?” He taps a finger against his cheek, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, when you just stare at him blankly he slowly moves the finger to his lips, tilting his head in question.

You scoff loudly. “A smack is what you’ll get, monsieur Doyle.”

“Fine then” he says cheerily, without missing a beat “go right ahead.” He leans down to offer you his cheek for a smack.

You huff “Well, it’s no fun when you just tell me to smack you.” you can barely keep yourself from laughing.

“Ah there it is, I’d let you smack me every day for the rest of my life if it meant you’d smile at me like that.” He places a hand over his heart dramatically.

This time you do laugh, of course he’d say that, the impossible flirt.

A few hours later you’re sitting in a carriage on your way back to the mansion, you’re jotting down all your findings in your notebook while Arthur looks out the window. The carriage jolts suddenly, and you curse quietly as you accidentally make a scribble on the page. Arthur chuckles beside you. 

“You could wait until we get back to the mansion, you know?” You ignore him, trying to remember everything the lady of the house had said about her family’s history before you forget. 

The sky outside is brushed orange and red, but is quickly turning a deep indigo. You have a few minutes of light at the most, and you still have some time before you can get to the mansion.

Save for the rolling thuds of the carriage and the rustling of its contents the ride is mostly silent. Arthur is resting his arm on the edge of his seat, face tilted to look out at the darkening sky. You close your notebook softly. His face is highlighted by the last of the day’s golden light, expression uncharacteristically pensive. 

“Something you like, darling? You start at his voice. Arthur doesn’t turn to you, but you can see the edge of his smile curl slowly into a smirk. You decide to ignore his comment.

“The lady said her sister had been overseas for the last five years, and she made it sound like she came back only just before she disappeared last week. And yet, the festival she mentioned…” Arthur turns to you now, a curious gleam in his eye.

“Smart girl, I told you about it, didn’t I? While walking around the square? Yes, that was only a few months ago. We can only conclude that she’s hiding something from us.”

You frown. “Yes, but what? She’s the one that hired us to find the hairpin, and what would she lie about her sister’s whereabouts when it has nothing to do with the case?”

Arthur shifts on his seat, leaning in slowly to place his elbows on his knees, hands threaded in front of his face, only just brushing his smiling lips. “Well, I think that it is our job to discover it, perhaps more than one mystery will be unravelled by the time we’re finished with this case.” You’re transfixed by his eyes. Outside it is now dark, and the scarce light makes them look like the night sky has pooled beneath his eyelids. He’s leaning so very close. “Come now, out we go. We mustn't keep the coachman waiting.”

You glance out the window, surprised to find that you are no longer moving, and that the carriage has stopped just outside the mansion. Arthur is standing outside with one hand extended towards you to help you get down. You take his hand before you can think better of it, and try not to look too embarrassed as you step out with his help.

You thank the coachman quickly and together you walk toward the beautiful mansion. There are soft crickets chirping amongst the garden, and the atmosphere is peaceful, though pensive as you both mull over the facts of the case.

“Fancy a nightcap, luv?” You nod quickly, your mind is much too muddled to go to sleep just yet. Arthur smiles at your troubled expression. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it, I feel that we are close to a break in this case. Now, let’s better get inside before the night turns cold, shall we?”

~.~.~.~.~.~.

Taglist: @juminly​

[brooks-schreave]

Brooks: Ficlet 2 Part 2

Sorry I was so busy I didn't get to post this a while ago! Thanks @fleur-quinn for the rp :) it was fun ❤️ Sorry for typos! (2200)

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. I'd been doing some research for the past few hours and the frustration was starting to get to me. I was fed up with being unsure about my theory and terrified if it proved correct. It was an impossible situation.

I leaned back in my swivel chair and spun around. “What to do, what to do,” I muttered to myself. I could try and read something, I thought. Damn, Bertram would probably chastise me for being ‘antisocial’. I guess I could hang out with Max or Mal for a bit. Sounded well enough. And even if I couldn't find them, I could just walk for a bit.

I stepped out of my room and into the hall and down the stairs. Mal would probably be in the makeup parlor next to the dance studio. I headed towards that direction, nodding towards guards and avoiding eye contact with maids.

I looked up briefly and saw a flash of red hair. Oh, Fleur, I immediately guessed. She wasn't hard to miss. She was walking aimlessly with her headphones on, seemingly unaware of anything around her.

I tried to get her attention to no avail. Finally, I waved a hand in front of her. She looked up in alarm, quickly pulled out her earphones and to ran her fingers through her hair. I assumed she was trying fix it up a bit. It was a bit messy, but not in a bad way. It suited her. “Oh hey Brooks! Sorry, didn’t see you there!”

I shrugged and smiled. “I get that a lot. What are you doing?”

“Oh, uh, I was just dancing in the studio, and thought I’d get something to eat and drink before heading back!” She held up glass of water. “Took your advice and got a glass of water, not a bottle.”

It was actually quite nice to hear that she remembered something so minuscule that I had said. “I'm so pleased. The life of a true lady,” I laughed at my own joke. I'm actually hilarious. “You dance?”

“Of course, the flower queen gotta act lady-like, yeah?” Yes, because ladies say ‘gotta’. “And Yeah, I dance! I love it!”

“Are you any good?” Of course she was, but I figured I'd inquire more on the topic. Fleur seemed to be quite talented. It was almost insane. She was exceptional in the arts and academics. She was a bit intimidating.

“Well... I don’t know,” she bit her lip, nervously. “Do you... do you wanna watch? I mean you can be the judge.”

I felt my ears tinge pink. If she felt nervous, I felt like I should too, as if there was something I wasn't understanding. “You wouldn't mind?”

“Nah, not at all... Piglet.” The redhead giggled reached up to tap my ear.

I felt my face heat up even more with embarrassment. “Just show me the dance.”

She laughed. “C’mon then.” Fleur grabbed my shirt sleeve and pulled me along towards the studio. “Well, uh, have a seat!” She set down her glass of water. “This is a very nice studio you guys have here, by the way.”

I nodded, assuming she was right. This may come as a shock, but I'm not exactly artistically inclined in my opinion. “I'm pretty sure I've been in here, like, twice.”

“What a coincidence! This is also my second time here!” I grinned at her response. I enjoyed her easy going humor.

“So, do you have some sort of routine or are you just going to wing it,” I asked as she picked her music.

“Uh, I can do both actually.” Damn. “But today I’ll do a choreographed dance.”

“Let's see it.” I walked over to the corner of the studio and sat criss-cross-applesauce, my long legs proving it more difficult than necessary.

Fleur nodded as she found the song and started to dance. I actually didn't watch a lot of dance. It was hard to take interest in something you were so unforgivably atrocious at. But, she… She was wickedly talented. I wondered if it was something natural or she genuinely had to work hard at.

There were things extremely noticeable about Fleur that I usually prided myself on never recognizing on anyone else. She was beautiful, there was no getting around that, but she seemed to hold herself in a different way every time you saw her. She was either strutting around with the confidence of a lioness or dragging her feet as if she was lost in some perilous thoughts her mind had conjured up in an act of betrayal.

With one final movement, she finished the routine and looked at me expectedly.

“Wow... T-that was... That looked like something I'd be very bad at doing,” I joked. I'd probably break something.

She blushed and giggled. I could her the nerves in her wavering voice. “It’s not that hard, really... You know ballroom dancing, don’t you?” You're joking, right?

I nodded. “Sure.” Lie, such a lie.

“Yeah! Then it won’t be hard to pick up this sort of dancing!”

I have her a flat look. That definitely wasn't ballroom dancing. “I have a feeling I can't drop to the floor like that.” Which she did.

Fleur laughed. “Well maybe that will take some practice. But the others are easier- you should pick up a few moves,” she said, eyes bright with amusement. “Then you’ll be a homeless dancer! And maybe they’ll finally let you sleep in the palace because of your awesome,” she did a random dance move that consisted of mostly flailing arms, “dance moves!”

“I hope to dance exactly the way you just did. Just that one move. Nothing else”

She repeated the move once again in slow motion. I did my best to mimic her without even moving my arms, trying to make her smile. “Nailed it.”

She blinked her eyes in surprise. “But your hands-” She cut herself off by covering her face and laughing loudly.

I joined in. “What?” I reached out and pulled her hands away from her face. “I thought I did really well that time.”

She peeked at me through her tear-stained lashes, trying not to laugh. “It’s just that when I meant relaxing your arms, I meant,” she paused suddenly, “Are you ticklish?”

Well this took a terrible turn. My smile dropped as I stepped back. “No.”

She grinned mischievously. “Something tells me you’re lying!” The redhead stepped forward to tickle me. Why was she so fast?!

I let out a weird giggle scream and jumped back quickly. Fleur did a war cry and ran after me.

Alright, Brooks, time to actually use your one shred of athletic ability. I ran out of room quickly, my height propelling me forward at a decent speed. My dad actually used to make me do a lot of track growing up, claiming that if I stayed inside to read all day, I'd regret it. He decided it was best for me to get some physical activity. I wasn't half bad, but I hated running and I was exceptionally clumsy. Winning a race just loses its effect when you trip right after crossing the finish line.

“Hey! No fair,” she exclaimed and sped up. The distraction caused me to trip and fall straight forward onto the marble floor. I groaned.

Fleur gasped and walked towards me, quickly. She looked at me with concern. “Brooks! Are you alright?”

I sat up and leaned back on my arms, no amusement on my face. “This is why tickling should be outlawed.” And why the idea that tickling was cute to be abolished. I had strong feelings about this.

She sat down next to him with a small smile. “I’m, uh, sorry… I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I could have died, Miss Quinn. All because your positively vicious antics.”

She hung her head. I hoped she didn't actually think I was upset. “I’m sorry... to be fair, you could’ve just let me tickle you.” Uh huh. ”Anyways, I’ll let you tickle me as a revenge?”

I almost slapped myself at how I immediately processed her words as some innuendo. I'd been around Max too much recently. “I'm far too much of a gentleman for that,” I smiled politely.

“Says the boy who ran like a madman just now,” she chuckled. “Your weird giggle scream…”

“'Says the man.' I'm a man.” Real convincing, kiddo.

“Whatever you say, my Prince,” she replied in da singsong voice.

“Your prince, huh? Wrong one, Fleur,” I teased. I knew what she meant but it almost gave me pride to see her flustered. She seemed untouchable at times.

Her eyes widened as she blushed and stuttered. “I- isn’t that what people-,” she suddenly realized I was teasing. “Maybe not the wrong one,” she said quietly.

I cocked my head to the side slightly at her words. Suddenly, I felt like I wasn't supposed to be there. But it wasn't as if there was anything wrong going on. “I am no one's and neither are you,” I stood up and offered her a hand. “People don't belong to each other,” I smiled in a way which can only be described as my signature expression. It may have seemed random, but this was something I actually had a strong view on. It's what bothered me about the selection at times- that there was an assumption of ownership over human beings.

She took my hand and sighed. “Right,” she replied lamely. “But isn’t that what people call the royals, ‘My Queen, My king, My prince, My lady’...”

I could tell she felt uncomfortable. “A technicality that I would abolish if I were king,” I flashed a posh smirk.

“Well, you can still always suggest that to your brother!”

“Mmhm, it's on the list.”

“Oh and by the way, I got an A for that assignment last time!” Fleur did a quick happy dance.

“Congratulations,” I grinned wholeheartedly. “What was it on?”

“Uh…, she thought about it, “uh... oh! Rule of Law!

“You hesitated. By Illea, Fleur... A-are you lying,” I gasped dramatically.

She rolled her eyes. “I was not! I simply forgot the topic! Once I finished an assignment, I would not think about it again. Don’t wanna live through the nightmare again.”

I shook my head. “Naw, I don't buy it. Spit it out, what was the paper really on?”

“The rule of law!” She stomped feet in frustration. “Comparison between the rule of law in Illéa and America. I can prove it to you! Humph!” Fleur crossed her arms in defiance. I raised an eyebrow at her actions.

“It was probably about statistics on cows. Remember, Miss Quinn, a future queen mustn't lie.”

“I was NOT lying,” she groaned. Fleur whipped out her phone and found the document. “See? and I don’t do statistics on cows!”

“Well you should. I would read it ALL.”

“Why would I write about statistics on cows,” she threw her hands in the air. “Maybe /you/,” she jabbed her finger into my chest, “should do it. And I won’t read it!” Damn, she's really into this.

“No point then.”

“Did Brooks Schreave just say that he will only do a research if Fleur Quinn reads it? Ha!” Her eyes danced with amusement.

“Poor girl, you confuse my meaning.” I smiled smugly. “What I'm saying is that I have no want to write about cow statistics, but I would do it to spite you. But if you weren't going to read it anyway, there's no point.”

“First, I’m not ‘poor’.” Darling, I'm well aware. I've done the research. “Second, stop smiling like that,” she looked at me with disgust. Ouch. “Third, you’re /still/ saying you’ll only do a research if I’m reading it! I never specified what research!” She winked dramatically. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. I won’t tell anybody about it,” she finished with a solemn nod.

I wiped imaginary sweat off my forehead. “Wow, that's a real weight off my shoulders. How could I ever repay you?”

“You can’t! But you can walk me back to the studio because I’m really thirsty after all the exercise.”

“Seems simple enough,” I shrugged, “and I am, at heart, a simple man.”

We began to walk. “Yup, I could totally see that with all the, what’s that?” She gestured to my attire. “Sweater and tie! A very casual and simple attire indeed.” I almost clutched my stomach self consciously. What's wrong with my clothes?

“I'm a very suave hobo, as you can see.” She laughed.

We arrived to the studio and she grabbed her water. “Water has never tasted better! “Thanks for walking me back,” she beamed. “Oh no! Dinner’s an hour away! I have to get changed!”

“And I have to…” I thought of something, “wait an hour for dinner.” Smooth. “See you then,” I smiled and waved.

She returned the action. “See ya! Don’t starve!”

I held in a laugh. “I'll try not to,” I called back.

Huh, that wasn't too bad of a distraction. Fleur had a kind heart that was both endearing and refreshing. I rubbed the side of my face that had been so severely hit earlier that day. Very refreshing.