"'Cause My Love's As Hungry as the Sea..."
Aug. 6th, 2005 11:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
psalm_onethirtyoneOh. This is my...
It was supposed to be Stock/Jellinek, but then it changed its mind. Now it is Jellinek-taking-on-Florian's-role-v.-symbolically. But not. And then some. Gahhhhh.
...I do like Luke, though. He turned out all right. And there's a reference in there for Kali, since she coined the term and I'm an idiot.
Soup
No one asked Jellinek what he thought when the news of Stock's death arrived. Instead, he learned about everyone else. Perhaps, he decided later, that was best.
Florian's people moved about, worked, fought; but Jellinek's only business was to go where Florian went, and feed the people who were there. Wherever they stopped, he set up a kitchen. Sometimes it was makeshift, sometimes a building provided one for him. Whatever the case, he did his only business, and while he went about it he looked around.
When the news of Stock's death arrived, they were holed up on a tiny farm near Felden. Jellinek had been given the kitchen and pantry to work with, and the farmer's little girls followed him around and brought everything he asked for, looking sweet and frightened by all the people and reminding him of two little tamed mice. He had always been good with names--it made customers feel more welcome--but for some reason he couldn't recall the names of the two little mice for anything. He called them Pansy and Nasturtium, both good flowers for decorating food.
When the news of Stock's death arrived, they were holed up on a tiny farm near Felden; Pansy and Nasturtium were in the kitchen with Jellinek as he made supper out of hazelnuts and chicken. Pansy brought potatoes from the cellar and Nasturtium found beans in the garden--he was ruffling their matching corn-silk hair and praising them when they heard shouting and commotion through the open door. Jellinek looked out.
Laurel, one of the older men who had joined last month, was speaking--or shouting rather--with Zara, and Florian was saying something sharp to them both. Another boy, one Jellinek didn't know, stood to the side, panting, looking grimy and exhausted.
Jellinek knelt before his two little mice.
"My dears, I want you to run out there--and be as quiet and good as you can be--and find out what everyone's so upset about. Oh, and tell that boy to come in here. He looks starved, and I'll give him something. Run, my dears."
They ran, their corn-silk hair blowing. He watched as Pansy tugged the boy's sleeve and Nasturtium stood behind Florian, watched as they ran back together, the boy running along between them. The kitchen was like the safe spot in a game of chase.
They rustled through the door at the same time, letting the boy come last. He was too out of breath to go quicker, and he stood in the doorway nervously as Pansy and Nasturtium stopped short beside Jellinek and looked up at him, two sun-brown faces dirty from pulling weeds in the vegetable patch that morning.
"What have you found out, my dears?" Jellinek asked, reaching down beside him and taking four hands with dirt under the fingernails.
"Miss Zara's mad 'cause somebody named Stock is dead," Nasturtium said. "Mister Florian was trying to make her stop shouting, but it wasn't working."
"I would've stopped," Pansy put in quietly. "Mister Florian is--he's not like Father when he's sharp, but it's awful. I wouldn't want him to be angry with me ever."
"Mister Laurel said something about how lots of people're dead, and Miss Zara can't get so mad about it. So she shouted at him, and then he shouted back, and she shouted some more, and then she said something that must've been very bad, and then Mister Florian got even more sharp with her. You can hear she's not shouting now."
Jellinek nodded, keeping his face, a face meant almost entirely for laughing, from crumpling. It wasn't the moment for that. He realised Pansy was whispering to him.
"He's Luke. He's very hungry, because he's come all the way from somewhere 'round Eschbach, and he didn't stop at all on the way. He's awfully tired, too."
"Well, that won't do. What can we find for him?"
Nasturtium smiled. She was more cheerful than her serious older sister, and more interested than frightened by all the confusion going on around her home. "There're peaches in the cellar! And he can have some of our bread. We made bread with Mister Jellinek yesterday," she told Luke happily.
"Fetch it, fetch it, my dear. We mustn't keep the poor boy hungry."
One of Jellinek's mice disappeared, scampering beneath the house. Pansy, however, stayed close to him. "Mister Florian's not going to be angry for long, is he? They've come and told him about somebody dying already once, and he was sad, but not for very long. He won't be angry at Miss Zara for long, will he? I don't like it when he's sharp."
"I can't say, my dear. He may be sad this time, too, and perhaps for a good bit longer. Stock was one of his children."
Pansy sighed. "When Father drowned the Barn Cat's kittens, she cried for an awfully long time. But Mister Florian doesn't cry, I don't think."
"Well, my dear, he's not a cat."
"Can you make soup to-night instead of chickens?"
"What?"
Luke, still standing in the doorway, made a muffled noise and looked away. Pansy had begun to cry and was hiding herself in Jellinek's stained apron. Jellinek looked between the two of them for a moment and wondered who to attend to first, when Nasturtium came up from the cellar with her arms full of peaches.
Without meaning to, he groaned.
Luke covered his face with his hands. "Don't let her cry. For love--I can't stand it any more. It was disgusting. They butchered him--his whole company. I don't blame that Zara woman for shouting. I wanted to scream. I can't stand it."
At the same time, Pansy said, "Mother always makes soup when something bad happens, because it's easier to eat soup when you're sad. And you can stir soup when you're sad, and it's nice, it's nice, stirring soup--" She was still crying.
Nasturtium was lining peaches up by height on the table, rubbing her cheeks hard every now and then. "Tell her she can't cry," she said suddenly. "I'm scared. Tell her she can't cry."
Jellinek felt like Florian.
"My dears, my dears," he said, reaching out and drawing Nasturtium close, moving towards the door and taking Luke's hand, pulling them all together and letting all three of them hold on to his good strong solidness, his being there. "There, my dears. There, my dears. Don't be frightened. You're away from it. You're in my kitchen. Everyone's safe here. Hush, there's a good child. Hush. Nasturtium, bring a peach for Luke. Pansy, find some of our bread, if you please. There, my dears, all of you."
His two mice did as he said, and Luke allowed Jellinek to smooth his hair back and go on speaking. In the few moments it took Pansy to fetch a loaf of bread and put it in the big brick baking oven to warm, Luke was sitting down on a stool and eating peaches slowly, peeling off their sunset-coloured skin and pulling the fruit away from the almond-shaped stones. He looked up when Pansy brought him the loaf and smiled at her wanly.
"Thanks, girl."
Pansy had stopped crying, too, but she didn't return the smile. Instead, she looked up at Jellinek pleadingly and said,--
"Please let's have soup to-night. I want to stir the soup."
"Certainly," Jellinek said, and he and Nasturtium fetched the soup kettle from the pantry and hung it over the fire.
Together they drew water from the well outside and began to cut the chicken into pieces. After a few moments, Pansy and Luke joined in, cutting up potatoes and beans. Nasturtium loved to fetch things, and Jellinek sent her to the garden for tomatoes and late corn, to the herb patch for parsley and basil. Luke helped him chop and season the hazelnuts--for Jellinek had never wasted a thing in his life and never would--and Pansy cut the corn from the cob to make it ready. Jellinek had already put the chicken in to make stock for the broth.
Nasturtium remembered a pound of sausage hidden in the cellar somewhere behind the hanging herbs, and Pansy brought pepper seeds out of jar on top of the shelf over the fireplace. Even Luke suggested putting in onions and leeks. They had forgotten everything except making the soup magnificent.
Pansy stirred it. Pansy stirred the soup until it was ready, while Luke and Nasturtium added things into it and Jellinek directed them. By the time Florian's people had squashed themselves into the farmer's tiny house, the smell of cooking was beginning to seep out the door.
It was then that Jellinek thought of what Stock would have had to say about that, how he would have laughed and clapped backs and announced that Jellinek was a splendid fellow and he ought to write an ode to that soup.
He pushed it out of his head quickly and sent his two mice along with Luke, to fetch bowls and dishes and cups and anything they could find that would hold the soup. They brought him mugs and pots for seeding vegetables (which Nasturtium washed energetically to make clean enough to be eaten from) and pans for baking. Luke came back with a cream pitcher and a sugar dish emptied of their contents, and Pansy went to her room and returned with a little tin box in which she kept dried flowers.
Together, they ladled soup into thirty-seven assorted containers. The next morning, Jellinek would serve breakfast to only nineteen. Florian's people came and went during the night, and the number was rarely the same. To-night, though, there were thirty-seven, and Jellinek, with Luke and his mice, had provided for all of them.
After everyone was served, they retreated to the kitchen to eat together. Pansy had evidently brought Florian's soup to him; between slow spoonfuls from her own bowl, she said,--
"Mister Florian's not eating with everybody else. He's in another room. Father said he doesn't want to be bothered, but I don't think that's exactly what he said. He doesn't say things like that, I don't think."
"Miss Zara's eating by herself, too," Nasturtium said helpfully. "She's outside. She near bit me when I gave her her soup. Only I didn't get upset, 'cause she was so mad before and I guess she prob'ly still is."
"Probably," Jellinek agreed.
Luke kicked at the leg of his stool listlessly. "Laurel--he's the bloke who was fighting with her before, you know--he picked at me when I was doing his corner. Damn it. I didn't want to have to come tell everybody."
"I know. Don't mind the way anyone behaves to-day--no one can blame anyone for feeling bad-tempered or sad. There's been bad news. Everyone will be less upset in the morning, when they've had time to realise things better. It's simply an unexpected blow--a terrible one--but everyone will be calmer in the morning, after they've slept."
"Mister Florian doesn't sleep," said Pansy.
Jellinek couldn't help it. He laughed. "My dear, really. You're picking at me as badly as Laurel. Recall, Florian hasn't been shouting at anyone, either."
"I suppose so."
Luke leaned back against the wall for a moment, then closed his eyes. "I'll leave in the morning, I guess. I'll go back to Colonel Shrike, if I can find him. I'll only really have to follow the river of blood, I suppose. He was furious. No, for love, that's not right. He was insane. When Theo told me to go find Peregrine--that's what they call Florian in Colonel Shrike's camp, you know--I wanted to thank him. I've never wanted to get so far from something in all my life." He shuddered.
"I'm sorry, my dear. I wish I could keep you on to help me. I don't know how I'll manage when we move on and I haven't my Pansy and Nasturtium to aid with my cooking."
Nasturtium beamed.
"Will you leave soon?" Pansy asked.
"Soon enough. You can see it in Florian. He's ready to go. It's time."
She sighed. "I like you."
"I like you, too, my dear, very much." Jellinek stroked her corn-silk hair. "As well as your lovely sister. It's going to be difficult."
For a moment, there was quiet, and then Nasturtium asked quickly, "Will you feel as sad as Mister Florian did 'bout Stock dying?"
Luke choked. "Shut up!"
"Yes, I will," Jellinek said firmly. "I love you, my dears. I'll miss you as though you were my children."
"You--for love-- Good-night!" Luke stood up suddenly in a clatter, crashing his shoulder into the table as he did so, and stared at the three of them, trembling. Then he rushed out of the kitchen.
"I said something awful," Nasturtium whispered in the quiet that came in his place.
"No." Jellinek looked after Luke, still stroking Pansy's hair absently. "Luke is tired, just like everybody else. He'll sleep now. Let him go. In the morning, he has to go back, and he's afraid, my dears. People are often afraid. He needs to sleep alone to-night, and I don't think we'll see him in the morning. It's all right, it's all right, my dears. We must let him go."
In another hour, his two little mice were taken to bed by their parents, and Jellinek set about washing the traces of soup from thirty-seven assorted containers. By the time he was finally able to sleep, having made preparations for breakfast the next morning, he was too tired to be sad.
He closed his eyes and thought of Stock. No one had asked him what he thought, and he didn't suppose it was likely that anyone would. Perhaps that was for the best. He was tired enough. Stock had written ridiculous poems about his cooking and his wine, had teased him and mourned at him, had talked about everything imaginable while eating one of Jellinek's suppers--but it all felt distant and long ago. It felt as though Stock had already been dead for a long time, back when he first stopped being there, back before Jellinek had left Freyborg, even. He was too tired to be sad for someone who had been dead already. It wasn't something he could have explained to anyone, though--he hadn't a gift for words, even ridiculous words, the way Stock had; and he was, in a way, glad no one had asked him what he thought.
He did realise that his face was wet, but he thought it was the sweat from working so hard for half the night--and when he realised it was tears, he understood well enough that they were for Luke rather than Stock, for the boy who was alive, and by morning would already have started back to Colonel Shrike.
For love, he thought wearily.
Yes, it was much better that no one had asked. He could not have answered.
It was supposed to be Stock/Jellinek, but then it changed its mind. Now it is Jellinek-taking-on-Florian's-role-v.-symbolically. But not. And then some. Gahhhhh.
...I do like Luke, though. He turned out all right. And there's a reference in there for Kali, since she coined the term and I'm an idiot.
Soup
No one asked Jellinek what he thought when the news of Stock's death arrived. Instead, he learned about everyone else. Perhaps, he decided later, that was best.
Florian's people moved about, worked, fought; but Jellinek's only business was to go where Florian went, and feed the people who were there. Wherever they stopped, he set up a kitchen. Sometimes it was makeshift, sometimes a building provided one for him. Whatever the case, he did his only business, and while he went about it he looked around.
When the news of Stock's death arrived, they were holed up on a tiny farm near Felden. Jellinek had been given the kitchen and pantry to work with, and the farmer's little girls followed him around and brought everything he asked for, looking sweet and frightened by all the people and reminding him of two little tamed mice. He had always been good with names--it made customers feel more welcome--but for some reason he couldn't recall the names of the two little mice for anything. He called them Pansy and Nasturtium, both good flowers for decorating food.
When the news of Stock's death arrived, they were holed up on a tiny farm near Felden; Pansy and Nasturtium were in the kitchen with Jellinek as he made supper out of hazelnuts and chicken. Pansy brought potatoes from the cellar and Nasturtium found beans in the garden--he was ruffling their matching corn-silk hair and praising them when they heard shouting and commotion through the open door. Jellinek looked out.
Laurel, one of the older men who had joined last month, was speaking--or shouting rather--with Zara, and Florian was saying something sharp to them both. Another boy, one Jellinek didn't know, stood to the side, panting, looking grimy and exhausted.
Jellinek knelt before his two little mice.
"My dears, I want you to run out there--and be as quiet and good as you can be--and find out what everyone's so upset about. Oh, and tell that boy to come in here. He looks starved, and I'll give him something. Run, my dears."
They ran, their corn-silk hair blowing. He watched as Pansy tugged the boy's sleeve and Nasturtium stood behind Florian, watched as they ran back together, the boy running along between them. The kitchen was like the safe spot in a game of chase.
They rustled through the door at the same time, letting the boy come last. He was too out of breath to go quicker, and he stood in the doorway nervously as Pansy and Nasturtium stopped short beside Jellinek and looked up at him, two sun-brown faces dirty from pulling weeds in the vegetable patch that morning.
"What have you found out, my dears?" Jellinek asked, reaching down beside him and taking four hands with dirt under the fingernails.
"Miss Zara's mad 'cause somebody named Stock is dead," Nasturtium said. "Mister Florian was trying to make her stop shouting, but it wasn't working."
"I would've stopped," Pansy put in quietly. "Mister Florian is--he's not like Father when he's sharp, but it's awful. I wouldn't want him to be angry with me ever."
"Mister Laurel said something about how lots of people're dead, and Miss Zara can't get so mad about it. So she shouted at him, and then he shouted back, and she shouted some more, and then she said something that must've been very bad, and then Mister Florian got even more sharp with her. You can hear she's not shouting now."
Jellinek nodded, keeping his face, a face meant almost entirely for laughing, from crumpling. It wasn't the moment for that. He realised Pansy was whispering to him.
"He's Luke. He's very hungry, because he's come all the way from somewhere 'round Eschbach, and he didn't stop at all on the way. He's awfully tired, too."
"Well, that won't do. What can we find for him?"
Nasturtium smiled. She was more cheerful than her serious older sister, and more interested than frightened by all the confusion going on around her home. "There're peaches in the cellar! And he can have some of our bread. We made bread with Mister Jellinek yesterday," she told Luke happily.
"Fetch it, fetch it, my dear. We mustn't keep the poor boy hungry."
One of Jellinek's mice disappeared, scampering beneath the house. Pansy, however, stayed close to him. "Mister Florian's not going to be angry for long, is he? They've come and told him about somebody dying already once, and he was sad, but not for very long. He won't be angry at Miss Zara for long, will he? I don't like it when he's sharp."
"I can't say, my dear. He may be sad this time, too, and perhaps for a good bit longer. Stock was one of his children."
Pansy sighed. "When Father drowned the Barn Cat's kittens, she cried for an awfully long time. But Mister Florian doesn't cry, I don't think."
"Well, my dear, he's not a cat."
"Can you make soup to-night instead of chickens?"
"What?"
Luke, still standing in the doorway, made a muffled noise and looked away. Pansy had begun to cry and was hiding herself in Jellinek's stained apron. Jellinek looked between the two of them for a moment and wondered who to attend to first, when Nasturtium came up from the cellar with her arms full of peaches.
Without meaning to, he groaned.
Luke covered his face with his hands. "Don't let her cry. For love--I can't stand it any more. It was disgusting. They butchered him--his whole company. I don't blame that Zara woman for shouting. I wanted to scream. I can't stand it."
At the same time, Pansy said, "Mother always makes soup when something bad happens, because it's easier to eat soup when you're sad. And you can stir soup when you're sad, and it's nice, it's nice, stirring soup--" She was still crying.
Nasturtium was lining peaches up by height on the table, rubbing her cheeks hard every now and then. "Tell her she can't cry," she said suddenly. "I'm scared. Tell her she can't cry."
Jellinek felt like Florian.
"My dears, my dears," he said, reaching out and drawing Nasturtium close, moving towards the door and taking Luke's hand, pulling them all together and letting all three of them hold on to his good strong solidness, his being there. "There, my dears. There, my dears. Don't be frightened. You're away from it. You're in my kitchen. Everyone's safe here. Hush, there's a good child. Hush. Nasturtium, bring a peach for Luke. Pansy, find some of our bread, if you please. There, my dears, all of you."
His two mice did as he said, and Luke allowed Jellinek to smooth his hair back and go on speaking. In the few moments it took Pansy to fetch a loaf of bread and put it in the big brick baking oven to warm, Luke was sitting down on a stool and eating peaches slowly, peeling off their sunset-coloured skin and pulling the fruit away from the almond-shaped stones. He looked up when Pansy brought him the loaf and smiled at her wanly.
"Thanks, girl."
Pansy had stopped crying, too, but she didn't return the smile. Instead, she looked up at Jellinek pleadingly and said,--
"Please let's have soup to-night. I want to stir the soup."
"Certainly," Jellinek said, and he and Nasturtium fetched the soup kettle from the pantry and hung it over the fire.
Together they drew water from the well outside and began to cut the chicken into pieces. After a few moments, Pansy and Luke joined in, cutting up potatoes and beans. Nasturtium loved to fetch things, and Jellinek sent her to the garden for tomatoes and late corn, to the herb patch for parsley and basil. Luke helped him chop and season the hazelnuts--for Jellinek had never wasted a thing in his life and never would--and Pansy cut the corn from the cob to make it ready. Jellinek had already put the chicken in to make stock for the broth.
Nasturtium remembered a pound of sausage hidden in the cellar somewhere behind the hanging herbs, and Pansy brought pepper seeds out of jar on top of the shelf over the fireplace. Even Luke suggested putting in onions and leeks. They had forgotten everything except making the soup magnificent.
Pansy stirred it. Pansy stirred the soup until it was ready, while Luke and Nasturtium added things into it and Jellinek directed them. By the time Florian's people had squashed themselves into the farmer's tiny house, the smell of cooking was beginning to seep out the door.
It was then that Jellinek thought of what Stock would have had to say about that, how he would have laughed and clapped backs and announced that Jellinek was a splendid fellow and he ought to write an ode to that soup.
He pushed it out of his head quickly and sent his two mice along with Luke, to fetch bowls and dishes and cups and anything they could find that would hold the soup. They brought him mugs and pots for seeding vegetables (which Nasturtium washed energetically to make clean enough to be eaten from) and pans for baking. Luke came back with a cream pitcher and a sugar dish emptied of their contents, and Pansy went to her room and returned with a little tin box in which she kept dried flowers.
Together, they ladled soup into thirty-seven assorted containers. The next morning, Jellinek would serve breakfast to only nineteen. Florian's people came and went during the night, and the number was rarely the same. To-night, though, there were thirty-seven, and Jellinek, with Luke and his mice, had provided for all of them.
After everyone was served, they retreated to the kitchen to eat together. Pansy had evidently brought Florian's soup to him; between slow spoonfuls from her own bowl, she said,--
"Mister Florian's not eating with everybody else. He's in another room. Father said he doesn't want to be bothered, but I don't think that's exactly what he said. He doesn't say things like that, I don't think."
"Miss Zara's eating by herself, too," Nasturtium said helpfully. "She's outside. She near bit me when I gave her her soup. Only I didn't get upset, 'cause she was so mad before and I guess she prob'ly still is."
"Probably," Jellinek agreed.
Luke kicked at the leg of his stool listlessly. "Laurel--he's the bloke who was fighting with her before, you know--he picked at me when I was doing his corner. Damn it. I didn't want to have to come tell everybody."
"I know. Don't mind the way anyone behaves to-day--no one can blame anyone for feeling bad-tempered or sad. There's been bad news. Everyone will be less upset in the morning, when they've had time to realise things better. It's simply an unexpected blow--a terrible one--but everyone will be calmer in the morning, after they've slept."
"Mister Florian doesn't sleep," said Pansy.
Jellinek couldn't help it. He laughed. "My dear, really. You're picking at me as badly as Laurel. Recall, Florian hasn't been shouting at anyone, either."
"I suppose so."
Luke leaned back against the wall for a moment, then closed his eyes. "I'll leave in the morning, I guess. I'll go back to Colonel Shrike, if I can find him. I'll only really have to follow the river of blood, I suppose. He was furious. No, for love, that's not right. He was insane. When Theo told me to go find Peregrine--that's what they call Florian in Colonel Shrike's camp, you know--I wanted to thank him. I've never wanted to get so far from something in all my life." He shuddered.
"I'm sorry, my dear. I wish I could keep you on to help me. I don't know how I'll manage when we move on and I haven't my Pansy and Nasturtium to aid with my cooking."
Nasturtium beamed.
"Will you leave soon?" Pansy asked.
"Soon enough. You can see it in Florian. He's ready to go. It's time."
She sighed. "I like you."
"I like you, too, my dear, very much." Jellinek stroked her corn-silk hair. "As well as your lovely sister. It's going to be difficult."
For a moment, there was quiet, and then Nasturtium asked quickly, "Will you feel as sad as Mister Florian did 'bout Stock dying?"
Luke choked. "Shut up!"
"Yes, I will," Jellinek said firmly. "I love you, my dears. I'll miss you as though you were my children."
"You--for love-- Good-night!" Luke stood up suddenly in a clatter, crashing his shoulder into the table as he did so, and stared at the three of them, trembling. Then he rushed out of the kitchen.
"I said something awful," Nasturtium whispered in the quiet that came in his place.
"No." Jellinek looked after Luke, still stroking Pansy's hair absently. "Luke is tired, just like everybody else. He'll sleep now. Let him go. In the morning, he has to go back, and he's afraid, my dears. People are often afraid. He needs to sleep alone to-night, and I don't think we'll see him in the morning. It's all right, it's all right, my dears. We must let him go."
In another hour, his two little mice were taken to bed by their parents, and Jellinek set about washing the traces of soup from thirty-seven assorted containers. By the time he was finally able to sleep, having made preparations for breakfast the next morning, he was too tired to be sad.
He closed his eyes and thought of Stock. No one had asked him what he thought, and he didn't suppose it was likely that anyone would. Perhaps that was for the best. He was tired enough. Stock had written ridiculous poems about his cooking and his wine, had teased him and mourned at him, had talked about everything imaginable while eating one of Jellinek's suppers--but it all felt distant and long ago. It felt as though Stock had already been dead for a long time, back when he first stopped being there, back before Jellinek had left Freyborg, even. He was too tired to be sad for someone who had been dead already. It wasn't something he could have explained to anyone, though--he hadn't a gift for words, even ridiculous words, the way Stock had; and he was, in a way, glad no one had asked him what he thought.
He did realise that his face was wet, but he thought it was the sweat from working so hard for half the night--and when he realised it was tears, he understood well enough that they were for Luke rather than Stock, for the boy who was alive, and by morning would already have started back to Colonel Shrike.
For love, he thought wearily.
Yes, it was much better that no one had asked. He could not have answered.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-06 04:36 pm (UTC)It has flaws, spots where it could be better -- I'll crit if you want me to -- but beyond that, this is just achy and real and-- and hits the same sort of spot in me that the books did, the one that says, yes, this is how people are.
*flails* *hugs you very much*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-06 04:41 pm (UTC)Please do crit. I--gah.
I was trying to write like him. Because I'm silly like that, I suppose. But--thank you so much. eep.
*hugsback!* Will I see you to-night? ;_; Am undergoing Manon!deprivation.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-06 04:59 pm (UTC)I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you gah! *snuggles* It's really mostly small stylistic things. It's just so good already, I want it to be perfect... *hugs*
Not silly at all! And much more possible with Alexander than with Hugo. :P
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-07 02:22 am (UTC)No, no, I wasn't gah-ing over that! I wasn't even going to post the silly thing, you know, because it didn't turn out the way I wanted it. But Mum said I ought. Er. And I like to post everything, even when I don't like it. But--eep. Thank you. Eep.
...You're telling me. ^_~
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-07 11:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-06 06:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-07 02:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-07 02:29 am (UTC)I like that you give characters a touch that nobody else (well, few else) would think to see in them. And I love your Luke.
Florian + Ragueneau = Jellinek.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-07 03:09 am (UTC)... *hides* Thank you so much. As I told Manon, I was not going to save this. Eep. Thank you. *likes Luke too. wants him to be a canon character*
WORD. WORD. *dies repeatedly*