[Fic] One Goatherd and His One-Goat Herd 02
Title: One Goatherd and His One-Goat Herd 02
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters/Pairing: Erik/Charles
Summary: Erik has one goat. WIP
Notes: Princess Tutu Fusion. Sort of. It's not really true to anything, though. Also, I'm still really sorry.
Edit: Every time I look at this page, I see something else I've failed at. T_T
Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a writer named Schmidt whose talents allowed him to write fantasy into reality.
Afraid of his power over them, the people cut off his hands.
So he continued to write in blood.
*
Every morning, Erik is woken by the sunlight streaming through the window and onto his face. Every morning, he promptly groans, rolls over, burrows underneath his pillow and tries to go back to sleep.
He ignores the soft nudge to his shoulder in the hopes that there will come one morning where he’ll be able cling to blessed oblivion and doze through until noon.
The nudging becomes more insistent. This is, it seems, not that morning. Lifting the edge of his pillow slightly, Erik opens a bleary eye, and sees Charles’ nose, three inches from his own.
“Gaugh,” he says, jerking back and then squinting against both the light and the sudden sight of goat nostril. Charles snuffles and then nudges him right in the face.
“Gaugh!” Erik says once more, with feeling. “All right, I’m getting up, I’m getting up.” He scrubs at his face with one hand, and begins groping around for a clean shirt. Charles whuffs quietly when Erik tries to insert both feet into the same trouser leg, and again when he tries to pull his left boot onto his right foot.
Erik gives him a suspicious glance out of the corner of his eye. Charles looks back, a picture of innocence.
“Don’t think I don’t know you only wake me up for the free show,” Erik tells him, as he’s setting their breakfast on the table; two apples for Charles and bread and cheese for himself. “I know you’re perfectly capable of getting your own food.”
Charles’ expression doesn’t change, but he somehow still manages to look more amused than a goat has any business being.
*
Erik sets off towards the town an hour later, with a final pat and a wave to Charles, who likes to walk him to the gate and stay there until Erik disappears from sight. (Erik left without telling him once, and Charles had shot him reproachful looks from the opposite side of the room for a week.)
When he gets to the main square, he heads straight for Hank’s Repair Shop, to pick up any item orders and service requests that may have come in for him the day before.
Erik supposes that the best word to describe what he does would be “blacksmith”. And he is one, of sorts - the townspeople come to him for any metalwork they need done. Which, in theory, is everything from cooking pots to boiler parts, but in practice, Erik thinks resignedly, is overwhelmingly made up of nails and fencing wire. But because he has no need for a forge, he finds it much easier to just have customers drop off their requests for him with Hank, and to do all the work at home. In exchange, Erik helps Hank with whatever metal parts he needs in either his repair work (anything and everything under the sun, the boy is a genius) or his real passion, inventing.
(The results of this have been, at times, considerably more ingenious. At others, however, they’ve been considerably less. He did manage to make that thing that gave Sean the ability to fly, Erik concedes. But, then again, he made that thing that gave Sean the ability to fly. The jury is still out on which side of the genius/insanity divide that invention falls on, although Erik has to admit that Sean’s attempt at using it to shit on birds was pretty inspired.**)
The little bell above the shop door tinkles as Erik steps inside. Hank startles and narrowly misses dropping the small glass bottle he’s holding, only to almost crush it in his huge blue hands as he reflexively tightens his grip.
“Ah, Erik,” Hank says, flustered, pushing his glasses up his nose. They snag on his fur and he yelps. His blush would be spectacular, Erik thinks, highly amused, if it weren’t hidden by all his fur. In the days before he changed, he used to glow a bright tomato red from his hairline all the way down to -
Erik stops mid-thought, confused. Where had that thought come from?, he wonders. Hank has been blue and furry the whole time Erik has known him.
“You had a couple of requests come in yesterday,” Hank says, cutting into Erik’s confusion. Erik shakes his head to clear it and opens the book Hank keeps on the counter to record the requests people bring in for Erik. He flips to the most recent entries. Which are, naturally, orders for nails. And fencing wire. Erik sighs.
Hank smiles wryly at Erik’s look of chagrin. “This is a goat-farming town,” he says, a little apologetically. “The two things that people are constantly going to be building are enclosures and barns.”
Erik sighs again. “Thanks. Was there anything you needed me to do, Hank?”
“Mm?” Hank says absently, pouring a few drops of milky liquid into a flask with great precision. “Oh, probably not for now. Raven wanted you to go see her before you head back, though. Something about Charles’ favourite pie, I think.”
Erik smiles at the thought. “I’ll head over now, then. Thanks again - ”
“Oh, wait!” Hank says suddenly, just as Erik is about to walk out the door. “I almost forgot. You don’t know anyone called Shaw, do you?”
Erik frowns. “No. Why?”
“He came in looking for you. Apparently he was asking around, trying to find out where you live. Moira from the tavern said that he lives up in that mansion out west of the town. You sure you haven’t done any work for him, or anything?”
“No, I’m sure I haven’t.” Something about the idea of this Shaw living at the mansion niggles at the back of Erik’s mind. He’s sure there’s something wrong with that, but just what that thing is is completely beyond him.
“Well,” he says, “if he’s looking for me, he’ll find me eventually. I’ll see you later, Hank.”
As he opens the door again, Erik notices something in the corner behind it. “Hank,” he says, looking at it curiously. “Why do you have a flatbed trolley in the shop?”
“Hm?” Hank says, not looking up. “To move things that are too heavy for me to carry.”
The trolley is probably just big enough for Charles to stand on comfortably.
“I’ve seen you lift entire carts carrying full loads of market day produce,” Erik says, a little incredulously. “What could you need that would be too heavy for you and still fit on this tiny thing?”
“Oh, I meant too heavy for me back before I - “ Hank pauses suddenly and looks at Erik, frowning. “Wait. That’s not right. I - Actually, what was I saying?”
Erik finds he can’t remember either. He gives Hank a small shrug. “It’s been happening to me a lot, lately. Must be coming down with something.”
Even as he leaves the shop and heads towards the little tea shop where Raven works, he can’t quite manage to shake the feeling that there’s something he should be feeling concerned about.
*
A short stop at the bakery later, Erik heads back up the hill towards home. When he nears the crest, he directs a loud, lusty yodel towards the top of the hill. When he doesn’t hear Charles’ usual answering bleats, however, he frowns, good mood slightly dampened by the possibility that something might be amiss.
“Charles?” he calls as he finally clears the hilltop. “Cha - “
Erik stops short at the sight of his gate swinging open, half torn off its hinges. “Charles?” he calls again, circling the house to check the back garden, voice louder and containing the tremulous onset of panic. He finds signs of a struggle, signs of intruders; his previously neat little garden trampled by (human) feet, washing torn down off the line and stained with, his eyes widen in realisation, blood -
“Charles!”
Dropping the pie, Erik tears around to the front of the house. His front door is slightly ajar. Heart thumping wildly, he throws it open.
Charles is gone.
Charles is gone.
Numb, Erik drags himself over to his single chair and sits down heavily. There’s a note and a small pouch on the table beside it. With shaking hands, Erik picks the note up.
Mister Lehnsherr,
I came to commission some metalwork from you, but found you weren’t in.
I did, however, notice the livestock you keep in the back.
And so it would seem, Mister Lehnsherr, that I have got your goat.
Do contact me if you’re interested in the work.
S. Shaw
P.S. I’ve also left a little in the way of compensation to cover the damage to your garden and your laundry. So sorry, my men found your little goat a bit tricky to catch; he put up quite the fight.
When Erik comes back to himself, he finds that all the metal in and around the house has been warped beyond recognition. Particularly, the silver Shaw left in exchange for - oh God, Charles, has melted together into a large, thick disc. Erik pockets it.
He’s going to find this Shaw.
And he’s going to get Charles back.
*
** Brought to you by http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpw0tdertX1ql4px3o1_500.jpg at the 'Texts from Xavier's Academy' tumblr, which is here http://textsfromxavieracademy.tumblr.com/.
This is the part where I admit that for some reason, in my head, Shaw always turns into a giant troll and that I love puns. But also where I don't admit that I basically listened to the "Lonely Goatherd" song from The Sound of Music on loop while writing this.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters/Pairing: Erik/Charles
Summary: Erik has one goat. WIP
Notes: Princess Tutu Fusion. Sort of. It's not really true to anything, though. Also, I'm still really sorry.
Edit: Every time I look at this page, I see something else I've failed at. T_T
Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a writer named Schmidt whose talents allowed him to write fantasy into reality.
Afraid of his power over them, the people cut off his hands.
So he continued to write in blood.
*
Every morning, Erik is woken by the sunlight streaming through the window and onto his face. Every morning, he promptly groans, rolls over, burrows underneath his pillow and tries to go back to sleep.
He ignores the soft nudge to his shoulder in the hopes that there will come one morning where he’ll be able cling to blessed oblivion and doze through until noon.
The nudging becomes more insistent. This is, it seems, not that morning. Lifting the edge of his pillow slightly, Erik opens a bleary eye, and sees Charles’ nose, three inches from his own.
“Gaugh,” he says, jerking back and then squinting against both the light and the sudden sight of goat nostril. Charles snuffles and then nudges him right in the face.
“Gaugh!” Erik says once more, with feeling. “All right, I’m getting up, I’m getting up.” He scrubs at his face with one hand, and begins groping around for a clean shirt. Charles whuffs quietly when Erik tries to insert both feet into the same trouser leg, and again when he tries to pull his left boot onto his right foot.
Erik gives him a suspicious glance out of the corner of his eye. Charles looks back, a picture of innocence.
“Don’t think I don’t know you only wake me up for the free show,” Erik tells him, as he’s setting their breakfast on the table; two apples for Charles and bread and cheese for himself. “I know you’re perfectly capable of getting your own food.”
Charles’ expression doesn’t change, but he somehow still manages to look more amused than a goat has any business being.
*
Erik sets off towards the town an hour later, with a final pat and a wave to Charles, who likes to walk him to the gate and stay there until Erik disappears from sight. (Erik left without telling him once, and Charles had shot him reproachful looks from the opposite side of the room for a week.)
When he gets to the main square, he heads straight for Hank’s Repair Shop, to pick up any item orders and service requests that may have come in for him the day before.
Erik supposes that the best word to describe what he does would be “blacksmith”. And he is one, of sorts - the townspeople come to him for any metalwork they need done. Which, in theory, is everything from cooking pots to boiler parts, but in practice, Erik thinks resignedly, is overwhelmingly made up of nails and fencing wire. But because he has no need for a forge, he finds it much easier to just have customers drop off their requests for him with Hank, and to do all the work at home. In exchange, Erik helps Hank with whatever metal parts he needs in either his repair work (anything and everything under the sun, the boy is a genius) or his real passion, inventing.
(The results of this have been, at times, considerably more ingenious. At others, however, they’ve been considerably less. He did manage to make that thing that gave Sean the ability to fly, Erik concedes. But, then again, he made that thing that gave Sean the ability to fly. The jury is still out on which side of the genius/insanity divide that invention falls on, although Erik has to admit that Sean’s attempt at using it to shit on birds was pretty inspired.**)
The little bell above the shop door tinkles as Erik steps inside. Hank startles and narrowly misses dropping the small glass bottle he’s holding, only to almost crush it in his huge blue hands as he reflexively tightens his grip.
“Ah, Erik,” Hank says, flustered, pushing his glasses up his nose. They snag on his fur and he yelps. His blush would be spectacular, Erik thinks, highly amused, if it weren’t hidden by all his fur. In the days before he changed, he used to glow a bright tomato red from his hairline all the way down to -
Erik stops mid-thought, confused. Where had that thought come from?, he wonders. Hank has been blue and furry the whole time Erik has known him.
“You had a couple of requests come in yesterday,” Hank says, cutting into Erik’s confusion. Erik shakes his head to clear it and opens the book Hank keeps on the counter to record the requests people bring in for Erik. He flips to the most recent entries. Which are, naturally, orders for nails. And fencing wire. Erik sighs.
Hank smiles wryly at Erik’s look of chagrin. “This is a goat-farming town,” he says, a little apologetically. “The two things that people are constantly going to be building are enclosures and barns.”
Erik sighs again. “Thanks. Was there anything you needed me to do, Hank?”
“Mm?” Hank says absently, pouring a few drops of milky liquid into a flask with great precision. “Oh, probably not for now. Raven wanted you to go see her before you head back, though. Something about Charles’ favourite pie, I think.”
Erik smiles at the thought. “I’ll head over now, then. Thanks again - ”
“Oh, wait!” Hank says suddenly, just as Erik is about to walk out the door. “I almost forgot. You don’t know anyone called Shaw, do you?”
Erik frowns. “No. Why?”
“He came in looking for you. Apparently he was asking around, trying to find out where you live. Moira from the tavern said that he lives up in that mansion out west of the town. You sure you haven’t done any work for him, or anything?”
“No, I’m sure I haven’t.” Something about the idea of this Shaw living at the mansion niggles at the back of Erik’s mind. He’s sure there’s something wrong with that, but just what that thing is is completely beyond him.
“Well,” he says, “if he’s looking for me, he’ll find me eventually. I’ll see you later, Hank.”
As he opens the door again, Erik notices something in the corner behind it. “Hank,” he says, looking at it curiously. “Why do you have a flatbed trolley in the shop?”
“Hm?” Hank says, not looking up. “To move things that are too heavy for me to carry.”
The trolley is probably just big enough for Charles to stand on comfortably.
“I’ve seen you lift entire carts carrying full loads of market day produce,” Erik says, a little incredulously. “What could you need that would be too heavy for you and still fit on this tiny thing?”
“Oh, I meant too heavy for me back before I - “ Hank pauses suddenly and looks at Erik, frowning. “Wait. That’s not right. I - Actually, what was I saying?”
Erik finds he can’t remember either. He gives Hank a small shrug. “It’s been happening to me a lot, lately. Must be coming down with something.”
Even as he leaves the shop and heads towards the little tea shop where Raven works, he can’t quite manage to shake the feeling that there’s something he should be feeling concerned about.
*
A short stop at the bakery later, Erik heads back up the hill towards home. When he nears the crest, he directs a loud, lusty yodel towards the top of the hill. When he doesn’t hear Charles’ usual answering bleats, however, he frowns, good mood slightly dampened by the possibility that something might be amiss.
“Charles?” he calls as he finally clears the hilltop. “Cha - “
Erik stops short at the sight of his gate swinging open, half torn off its hinges. “Charles?” he calls again, circling the house to check the back garden, voice louder and containing the tremulous onset of panic. He finds signs of a struggle, signs of intruders; his previously neat little garden trampled by (human) feet, washing torn down off the line and stained with, his eyes widen in realisation, blood -
“Charles!”
Dropping the pie, Erik tears around to the front of the house. His front door is slightly ajar. Heart thumping wildly, he throws it open.
Charles is gone.
Charles is gone.
Numb, Erik drags himself over to his single chair and sits down heavily. There’s a note and a small pouch on the table beside it. With shaking hands, Erik picks the note up.
Mister Lehnsherr,
I came to commission some metalwork from you, but found you weren’t in.
I did, however, notice the livestock you keep in the back.
And so it would seem, Mister Lehnsherr, that I have got your goat.
Do contact me if you’re interested in the work.
S. Shaw
P.S. I’ve also left a little in the way of compensation to cover the damage to your garden and your laundry. So sorry, my men found your little goat a bit tricky to catch; he put up quite the fight.
When Erik comes back to himself, he finds that all the metal in and around the house has been warped beyond recognition. Particularly, the silver Shaw left in exchange for - oh God, Charles, has melted together into a large, thick disc. Erik pockets it.
He’s going to find this Shaw.
And he’s going to get Charles back.
*
** Brought to you by http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpw0tdertX1ql4px3o1_500.jpg at the 'Texts from Xavier's Academy' tumblr, which is here http://textsfromxavieracademy.tumblr.com/.
This is the part where I admit that for some reason, in my head, Shaw always turns into a giant troll and that I love puns. But also where I don't admit that I basically listened to the "Lonely Goatherd" song from The Sound of Music on loop while writing this.