Celosia Izatar, leader of Flare and ex-Dictator of the world, rubbed her temples as she looked around the remains of a ground-zero explosion. The cleaning bucket in her hand squeaked as it swung desolately, as if even it had given up hope of finding anything salvageable from this mess. Smoke rose leisurely from the debris and rain water dripped in from the leaking roof, leaving sibilant hisses in its wake as the droplets landed on charred remains.
“How,” she demanded of the sky, for lack of a better audience. “did it come to this?”
“Because the Horde decided today’s your birthday and wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed and no one has taught them that gas and flames don’t go well together.” Nikolai Cross, her lover and fellow caretaker of the orphanage, informed her gravely from the safety of the hallway – the coward.
Cel stared at him in incomprehension. “But…today’s not even my birthday,” she protested weakly.
Nik, the bastard that he was, chuckled softly. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”
Opening her mouth to deliver a blistering lecture on how ‘the thought’ wasn’t going to get the scorch marks out of the kitchen floor, Cel choked the words back as six little heads popped up behind Nik.
“Cel, are you mad at us?” Six pairs of tear-filled eyes stared up at her; six kicked-puppy expressions imploring her to say no.
“It’s not about whether I’m mad or not.” The handle on the cleaning bucket cracked under her hand. “You can see how much of mess you’ve made.”
“We only wanted to surprise you.” Lydia, the smallest of the Horde with criminally-adorable ringlets framing an angel’s face, the spokesperson for the group whenever they’re in trouble, pouted up at her. “We wanted to do something nice for you, Celosia. Please don’t be mad.”
The bucket’s handle broke clean through the plastic cover. “…I’m not mad.” Cel consoled herself she was giving up a battle to win the war, though she doubted anyone else would buy it.
‘Izatar, you wouldn’t buy it if it was for free.’ A small corner of her mind which sounded suspiciously like Joyce, her reliable level-headed second-in-command, reminded her. Cel ignored it with a practiced ease.
“Weally?”
“Don’t lisp.” Cel reminded her automatically before setting the bucket down and going over to kneel down and gather the children into her arms. “And no, I’m not mad at you guys.”
Nik, still leaning against the doorway, snorted but hastily turned it into a cough under the force of her glare.
“I am upset at the consequence of your ill-thought out actions, but I’ll never be mad at you, my heart.” The Horde hugged her at the endearment with a desperation that made her heart clench. It wasn’t the first time, and will not be the last, when she was tempted to take her personal guards and hunt down the women that would abandon these children like throwing out old pairs of shoes.
A few more assurances, hugs and extracting a promise from the kids to never go in the kitchen on pain of house arrest for a month, the Horde tumbled into the dining room where Hugues and Payne were just sitting down to breakfast.
“Someday Hugues and Payne will be gone, and we won’t have an easy target to shove the kids unto when we need a breather.” Nik commented as he helped hoist her up to her feet. The cement floor was hell on the knees.
Cel rolled her eyes at him. “Implying you’re doing anything that you would need a breather from?” She put up a bit of struggle as he tried to embrace her from behind but sank back into his arms after he kissed the side of her neck.
“I was going to offer to help with the clean-up.” Nik chuffed, sounding quite happy at the prospect. Cel was almost tempted to tap her foot like one of her old nursemaids used to do.
“What’s the catch?”
“Aww, Celosia Izatar, you wound me. Can’t a man spend a morning helping the love of his life without being suspected of some unscrupulous ploy?”
“….You used ‘love’ and ‘ploy’ in the same sentence. And I know you, you Machiavellian bastard.” She elbowed him (lightly). “What am I going to have to pay for your help?”
“Well, if you put it that way.” He spun her around, eyes twinkling, a smirk on that heart-stoppingly handsome bad-boy face. “I’m sure there’s some ways,” a hand sneaked under her shirt “I can extract payment.”
Cel looked at him skeptically and gave a pointed look at the wretched state of the kitchen. “Here? Now?”
He grinned. “Well, I never said it was going to be easy.”
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regna
Mirai - Prompt 1
Date: 2009-10-04 08:20 pm (UTC)Celosia Izatar, leader of Flare and ex-Dictator of the world, rubbed her temples as she looked around the remains of a ground-zero explosion. The cleaning bucket in her hand squeaked as it swung desolately, as if even it had given up hope of finding anything salvageable from this mess. Smoke rose leisurely from the debris and rain water dripped in from the leaking roof, leaving sibilant hisses in its wake as the droplets landed on charred remains.
“How,” she demanded of the sky, for lack of a better audience. “did it come to this?”
“Because the Horde decided today’s your birthday and wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed and no one has taught them that gas and flames don’t go well together.” Nikolai Cross, her lover and fellow caretaker of the orphanage, informed her gravely from the safety of the hallway – the coward.
Cel stared at him in incomprehension. “But…today’s not even my birthday,” she protested weakly.
Nik, the bastard that he was, chuckled softly. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”
Opening her mouth to deliver a blistering lecture on how ‘the thought’ wasn’t going to get the scorch marks out of the kitchen floor, Cel choked the words back as six little heads popped up behind Nik.
“Cel, are you mad at us?” Six pairs of tear-filled eyes stared up at her; six kicked-puppy expressions imploring her to say no.
“It’s not about whether I’m mad or not.” The handle on the cleaning bucket cracked under her hand. “You can see how much of mess you’ve made.”
“We only wanted to surprise you.” Lydia, the smallest of the Horde with criminally-adorable ringlets framing an angel’s face, the spokesperson for the group whenever they’re in trouble, pouted up at her. “We wanted to do something nice for you, Celosia. Please don’t be mad.”
The bucket’s handle broke clean through the plastic cover. “…I’m not mad.” Cel consoled herself she was giving up a battle to win the war, though she doubted anyone else would buy it.
‘Izatar, you wouldn’t buy it if it was for free.’ A small corner of her mind which sounded suspiciously like Joyce, her reliable level-headed second-in-command, reminded her. Cel ignored it with a practiced ease.
“Weally?”
“Don’t lisp.” Cel reminded her automatically before setting the bucket down and going over to kneel down and gather the children into her arms. “And no, I’m not mad at you guys.”
Nik, still leaning against the doorway, snorted but hastily turned it into a cough under the force of her glare.
“I am upset at the consequence of your ill-thought out actions, but I’ll never be mad at you, my heart.” The Horde hugged her at the endearment with a desperation that made her heart clench. It wasn’t the first time, and will not be the last, when she was tempted to take her personal guards and hunt down the women that would abandon these children like throwing out old pairs of shoes.
A few more assurances, hugs and extracting a promise from the kids to never go in the kitchen on pain of house arrest for a month, the Horde tumbled into the dining room where Hugues and Payne were just sitting down to breakfast.
“Someday Hugues and Payne will be gone, and we won’t have an easy target to shove the kids unto when we need a breather.” Nik commented as he helped hoist her up to her feet. The cement floor was hell on the knees.
Cel rolled her eyes at him. “Implying you’re doing anything that you would need a breather from?” She put up a bit of struggle as he tried to embrace her from behind but sank back into his arms after he kissed the side of her neck.
“I was going to offer to help with the clean-up.” Nik chuffed, sounding quite happy at the prospect. Cel was almost tempted to tap her foot like one of her old nursemaids used to do.
“What’s the catch?”
“Aww, Celosia Izatar, you wound me. Can’t a man spend a morning helping the love of his life without being suspected of some unscrupulous ploy?”
“….You used ‘love’ and ‘ploy’ in the same sentence. And I know you, you Machiavellian bastard.” She elbowed him (lightly). “What am I going to have to pay for your help?”
“Well, if you put it that way.” He spun her around, eyes twinkling, a smirk on that heart-stoppingly handsome bad-boy face. “I’m sure there’s some ways,” a hand sneaked under her shirt “I can extract payment.”
Cel looked at him skeptically and gave a pointed look at the wretched state of the kitchen. “Here? Now?”
He grinned. “Well, I never said it was going to be easy.”