enigma variations, 6: to darkness
Title: Enigma Variations, 6/?: to darkness
Summary: Howard makes pancakes
Rating: PG-13 for language (and see Warnings)
Warnings: slight mention of shaman/familiar bestiality; general weirdness and lack of punctuation
Spoilers: Naboo gets pancakes too
Length: about 1320 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just borrow them to play with now and again (and again and again and again). For twisted love, not for profit
Notes: Back to the plot! Sort-of. Let me know if the format works for you. I wanted it to be different but not so different that it's unreadable, and am quite happy to re-think it. Also I've never written anything quite like this before so... gimme concrit, I can take it.
Enigma Variations
6 to darkness
you wake from uneasy sleep,
half-smothered by the sofa cushions, head and heart both aching and the coil of frustration and dread slithering low and heavy in your guts
their singing and laughter drills right into your brain
you want to be happy for them, you really do, it’s partly for their sake you’re in this state, you stupid tit, but you also really want them to shut up so you fumble around for your dark glasses, the very big and very dark ones you save for your worst hangovers, pull your crumpled robe sort-of straight and stagger down the passageway
they’re in the kitchen making dinner, or a mess, or probably both if you know them
- nutella or syrup, little man?
- on what?
- on your pancakes, you twerp…
you haven’t heard the big man laugh like that in ages, possibly ever, and part of you is sorry when you fling the door open and the laughter stops as you snap
- what the fuck’s goin’ on?
but he starts sniggering again as vince whispers - both on the pancakes, but save a bit of nutella for later
- sorry naboo, we were hungry - howard is holding a frying pan and trying to keep a straight face - you want some?
as vince unwraps himself from howard you are struck by how thin vince’s body is, not nearly enough of it covered by that little silky kimono thing, he’s been starving himself even more than usual to try to fit in with those skinny bastards in that crappy band
howard is looking at vince as though he’s a small mammal in need of feeding, his zookeeper training often comes out in times of crisis, when he isn’t begging people not to kill him because he’s got so much to give
and now he’s looking at you like that, too, and you’re glad of the dark glasses because right now even you don’t wanna look at what’s in your soul, and the best zookeeper training in the world (which his certainly wasn’t) wouldn’t be any help
even through the thick black lenses you can see the happiness shining in his eyes, and you know you did a good thing there and even you don’t believe you did it just to get your salesman back
like you give a shit about the shop anyway
part of you just wants to crawl over to him and beg him to take care of you again, to hold you, so you can go to sleep with those big solid arms around you and that broad chest breathing against your back, and never wake up
his mouth was so gentle and his simple kindness was not at all what you expected, it almost broke you, almost made you tell him everything
but you never tell anyone anything unless you have to, do you? not even bollo
your familiar isn’t allowed to be really familiar
(it’s against the shaman rules, number four thousand and seventy-two in the big blue book
although you have your suspicions about dennis and that rabbit of his, tony swears that three of its last litter of baby bunnies had milky blue eyes
mind you, the h-man hasn’t a leg to stand on, metaphorically or literally, since at least one of the litter before had suspiciously long and very pink ears)
and anyway you wouldn’t ask bollo for that sort of comfort
not even when it comes to the crunch
when you will be forced to beg for help from your usual source, help that you know will be given but begrudged, that you know will make you end up whining for it or passing out from the pain, or if you’re really lucky, both
the last time was so bad you almost gave up, but so good that the thought of the next time makes you weak at the knees
or maybe that’s just because you can’t remember when you last ate
and fuck you to xooberon and back, those pancakes smell good, howard’s not half a bad cook, makes up for vince being useless (attention span too short) and the fact that the only thing you ever wanna cook is hashcakes and actually bollo mostly makes those because you’re too stoned…
- naboo? naboolio?
now they’re both staring at you
- fucksake harold, just give him some, he must have munchies, he always does - bollo is sitting at the table tucking into a stack of pancakes with sliced bananas
you lean against the doorframe and try to play it cool
- hey bollo
- hey naboo - you can tell he isn’t fooled, he never is actually, although he goes along with the dumb-animal routine to save your pride
howard is still holding the frying pan and somehow it seems a long way to the nearest chair
vince puts his plate down and comes over to the door - you ok? no, you’re not, are you, you look terrible, is it because of that potion, it worked brilliantly, total genius, and listen, i really really appreciate it, ’s one of the kindest things anybody’s ever done for me, well, for us, and if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here now and we’d both be miserable and -
you wish he’d just shut up, your head’s splitting and… no, vince no, please don’t…
you really can’t handle this, it’s what your soul craves more than anything, but it’s gonna make you cry and that is just so not cool in front of your employees
but you don’t have the strength to resist and you hear yourself mutter - lemme go, you ballbag - at the same time as you put your arms round him too, and hang on
he’s even skinnier than he looks, and he smells of howard
a sob starts to gather somewhere deep inside you, and bollo senses it and comes to your rescue before it gets to the surface
- precious vince, naboo need to eat now, before he waste away to stick-man like you
the mood is broken and vince lets you go
bollo puts a big hairy arm around you just a bit tighter than he needs to and for just a bit longer than it would normally take to get you across the kitchen and onto a chair
(this is why you keep him on as your familiar, despite the cockups and the lost magic books and the breakages and the poor correlation between what’s on your shopping list and what’s in the actual shopping he brings home)
the pancakes are every bit as fucking delicious as you hoped
vince loads your plateful with nutella, banana, custard, syrup and rainbow sprinkles and you half-wonder whether he noticed anything
you know howard did, but you also know he won’t give you away
so you mutter your thanks and then you just sit and eat
it’s not only humans who find massive piles of carbs comforting sometimes
you’re still eating when they say goodnight and wander off, dumping the sticky plates in the sink, bollo rolls his eyes and mutters - shitfaces, what do they think I am, dishwasher machine?
- leave it bollo, they’re in love
- bollo know, bollo hear them in shower, bollo didn’t need to hear that, but it good to see precious vince happy
- yeah - your throat is tight
- bollo curious, what is item number five and why they need nutella in bedroom? i gotta bad feeling about tomorrow’s laundry
- dunno - you shrug, and you don’t tell him he’s lucky that that’s the only bad feeling he’s got, because you can’t get out more than one word at a time
- you ok, naboo?
all you can do is shake your head, and the tears well up and there’s nothing you can do to stop them
sometimes it’s just too hard to pretend any more
he doesn’t ask
he just picks you up and carries you to the bedroom
Summary: Howard makes pancakes
Rating: PG-13 for language (and see Warnings)
Warnings: slight mention of shaman/familiar bestiality; general weirdness and lack of punctuation
Spoilers: Naboo gets pancakes too
Length: about 1320 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just borrow them to play with now and again (and again and again and again). For twisted love, not for profit
Notes: Back to the plot! Sort-of. Let me know if the format works for you. I wanted it to be different but not so different that it's unreadable, and am quite happy to re-think it. Also I've never written anything quite like this before so... gimme concrit, I can take it.
Enigma Variations
6 to darkness
you wake from uneasy sleep,
half-smothered by the sofa cushions, head and heart both aching and the coil of frustration and dread slithering low and heavy in your guts
their singing and laughter drills right into your brain
you want to be happy for them, you really do, it’s partly for their sake you’re in this state, you stupid tit, but you also really want them to shut up so you fumble around for your dark glasses, the very big and very dark ones you save for your worst hangovers, pull your crumpled robe sort-of straight and stagger down the passageway
they’re in the kitchen making dinner, or a mess, or probably both if you know them
- nutella or syrup, little man?
- on what?
- on your pancakes, you twerp…
you haven’t heard the big man laugh like that in ages, possibly ever, and part of you is sorry when you fling the door open and the laughter stops as you snap
- what the fuck’s goin’ on?
but he starts sniggering again as vince whispers - both on the pancakes, but save a bit of nutella for later
- sorry naboo, we were hungry - howard is holding a frying pan and trying to keep a straight face - you want some?
as vince unwraps himself from howard you are struck by how thin vince’s body is, not nearly enough of it covered by that little silky kimono thing, he’s been starving himself even more than usual to try to fit in with those skinny bastards in that crappy band
howard is looking at vince as though he’s a small mammal in need of feeding, his zookeeper training often comes out in times of crisis, when he isn’t begging people not to kill him because he’s got so much to give
and now he’s looking at you like that, too, and you’re glad of the dark glasses because right now even you don’t wanna look at what’s in your soul, and the best zookeeper training in the world (which his certainly wasn’t) wouldn’t be any help
even through the thick black lenses you can see the happiness shining in his eyes, and you know you did a good thing there and even you don’t believe you did it just to get your salesman back
like you give a shit about the shop anyway
part of you just wants to crawl over to him and beg him to take care of you again, to hold you, so you can go to sleep with those big solid arms around you and that broad chest breathing against your back, and never wake up
his mouth was so gentle and his simple kindness was not at all what you expected, it almost broke you, almost made you tell him everything
but you never tell anyone anything unless you have to, do you? not even bollo
your familiar isn’t allowed to be really familiar
(it’s against the shaman rules, number four thousand and seventy-two in the big blue book
although you have your suspicions about dennis and that rabbit of his, tony swears that three of its last litter of baby bunnies had milky blue eyes
mind you, the h-man hasn’t a leg to stand on, metaphorically or literally, since at least one of the litter before had suspiciously long and very pink ears)
and anyway you wouldn’t ask bollo for that sort of comfort
not even when it comes to the crunch
when you will be forced to beg for help from your usual source, help that you know will be given but begrudged, that you know will make you end up whining for it or passing out from the pain, or if you’re really lucky, both
the last time was so bad you almost gave up, but so good that the thought of the next time makes you weak at the knees
or maybe that’s just because you can’t remember when you last ate
and fuck you to xooberon and back, those pancakes smell good, howard’s not half a bad cook, makes up for vince being useless (attention span too short) and the fact that the only thing you ever wanna cook is hashcakes and actually bollo mostly makes those because you’re too stoned…
- naboo? naboolio?
now they’re both staring at you
- fucksake harold, just give him some, he must have munchies, he always does - bollo is sitting at the table tucking into a stack of pancakes with sliced bananas
you lean against the doorframe and try to play it cool
- hey bollo
- hey naboo - you can tell he isn’t fooled, he never is actually, although he goes along with the dumb-animal routine to save your pride
howard is still holding the frying pan and somehow it seems a long way to the nearest chair
vince puts his plate down and comes over to the door - you ok? no, you’re not, are you, you look terrible, is it because of that potion, it worked brilliantly, total genius, and listen, i really really appreciate it, ’s one of the kindest things anybody’s ever done for me, well, for us, and if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here now and we’d both be miserable and -
you wish he’d just shut up, your head’s splitting and… no, vince no, please don’t…
you really can’t handle this, it’s what your soul craves more than anything, but it’s gonna make you cry and that is just so not cool in front of your employees
but you don’t have the strength to resist and you hear yourself mutter - lemme go, you ballbag - at the same time as you put your arms round him too, and hang on
he’s even skinnier than he looks, and he smells of howard
a sob starts to gather somewhere deep inside you, and bollo senses it and comes to your rescue before it gets to the surface
- precious vince, naboo need to eat now, before he waste away to stick-man like you
the mood is broken and vince lets you go
bollo puts a big hairy arm around you just a bit tighter than he needs to and for just a bit longer than it would normally take to get you across the kitchen and onto a chair
(this is why you keep him on as your familiar, despite the cockups and the lost magic books and the breakages and the poor correlation between what’s on your shopping list and what’s in the actual shopping he brings home)
the pancakes are every bit as fucking delicious as you hoped
vince loads your plateful with nutella, banana, custard, syrup and rainbow sprinkles and you half-wonder whether he noticed anything
you know howard did, but you also know he won’t give you away
so you mutter your thanks and then you just sit and eat
it’s not only humans who find massive piles of carbs comforting sometimes
you’re still eating when they say goodnight and wander off, dumping the sticky plates in the sink, bollo rolls his eyes and mutters - shitfaces, what do they think I am, dishwasher machine?
- leave it bollo, they’re in love
- bollo know, bollo hear them in shower, bollo didn’t need to hear that, but it good to see precious vince happy
- yeah - your throat is tight
- bollo curious, what is item number five and why they need nutella in bedroom? i gotta bad feeling about tomorrow’s laundry
- dunno - you shrug, and you don’t tell him he’s lucky that that’s the only bad feeling he’s got, because you can’t get out more than one word at a time
- you ok, naboo?
all you can do is shake your head, and the tears well up and there’s nothing you can do to stop them
sometimes it’s just too hard to pretend any more
he doesn’t ask
he just picks you up and carries you to the bedroom