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rumbelleshowdown · 5 years ago

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Author: Porcelain Elephants

Prompt: A lucky penny; dark cave; flexibility

Group: B

Flowers for Her Grave

Izzy French didn't believe in luck, whether it was in the form of horseshoes, shiny copper pennies, or anything else. After all, she had little reason to. She was stuck keeping her father's flower shop afloat in a town she thought she'd never return to after she left for college. If there was any luck in the universe, Izzy would be a librarian somewhere by now. Her mother wouldn't have died of cancer when she was six, leaving her with a man who couldn't care for himself let alone her. Papa would stare blankly ahead for months, his hand on his drink, his mind on his dead wife, and not on the little girl who needed him.

So Izzy had made her own luck. Even when her heart ached for a simpler life, one that didn't involve cooking lessons from Granny or sitting with her homework at the flower shop counter, learning geometry as she cut roses, she kept going. She kept herself afloat and grew up fast like the heroes in her storybooks, although Izzy hoped only to see the world and for a library of her own to run one day instead of magical powers or grand adventures. (Secretly, Izzy thought she deserved powers, a little compensation from the universe for the hand she'd been dealt, but Izzy knew fairness like luck and magic was nonexistent.) She'd thought she'd done it for a while, found a way to force the world to work in her favor. But then Papa had his heart attack her Junior year of college and everything she'd so tirelessly built came crashing down.

Still not everything is bad, Izzy thinks to herself as the bell on the shop door rings. She wipes her hands on her ragged jeans and looks up at her Tuesday regular. He's been coming here every Tuesday for as long as she remembered, precisely at 11:30 like clockwork. Most people would be frightened of Mr. Gold given his reputation (a reputation she's sure he's helped manufactured), but Izzy can't fear a mourning man though.

Gold looks better than usual today. His fingers are still white from how tightly he's gripping his cane, but his limp is less pronounced today. His hair frames his face, instead of completely covering it. He has a blue pocket square, as opposed to a black one. There are a hundred little things that let Izzy know today is a good day, or at least as good a Tuesday as she's ever seen.

"The usual, Mr. Gold?" She asks with a smile. It's not hard to smile at him on good days. On bad days, she barely forces herself to. A part of her just wants to hold him, cradle him to her chest and never let him go. She can't explain why. Their interactions are short, and he's never sought her affection. But still, Izzy wants to give it to him, wants to know him.

"Do you have anything a little brighter today?" Gold doesn't meet her eyes. He never does.

"I'm sure we can find something. Otherwise, we always have your roses." She turns her back to him and lays out the blue paper for the bouquet before she asks her next question. Their relationship has always been an odd one. He occasionally offers her answers that make her own heart twist in her chest, but she can carry some of his pain, especially if he offers it so hesitantly, coded in answers to simple question.

"What sort of flowers do you have in mind?"

"She was wearing gold the day we met. She looked radiant, like a brief flicker of light in an ocean of darkness, and her smile..." Gold trails off as if he remembers she’s still listening.

Izzy doesn’t push him; she never does. She knows the rest of the town hasn't heard Gold talk about his wife because they would never be able to believe he was a heartless monster after that. He speaks so reverently.

"If it was summer, I'd recommend sunflowers even if they are untraditional, or more so because from what I'd heard she'd like untraditional." She sees a tentative smile. "However I think daffodils will do nicely."

Every Tuesday Izzy waits with a bouquet of roses at the ready. Occasionally, he’ll need delphinium (because they remind him of her eyes), daisies (because she always insisted they were lucky), snapdragons (because she’d drag him into their garden to dance barefoot as soon as they bloomed) or lilacs (because they’re her favorite). But most of the time, it’s red roses, a symbol of both love and the first gift he ever gave her. He offers these tidbits tentatively, but Izzy treasures them.

When school is out for the summer, his son joins them, a little boy with deep brown eyes like his father. Gold speaks little of his dead wife when Gideon is around, always staying strong even on the days when Izzy just wants to usher him into the backroom so he can just sit and cry in peace. Not that he’ll take her up on the offer for even something as simple as tea. They keep going, their lives completely separate, except for every Tuesday when Izzy finds herself falling a little more in love with a man who loves so deeply that he’s already buried his heart.

Until suddenly their lives aren’t so separate anymore.

Gold practically races into Game of Thorns as soon as it opens, the door slamming behind him. Maybe it’s because she isn’t properly awake yet, but Gold looks different. He doesn’t lean as heavily on his cane and there’s a certain swagger in his step. But mostly it’s his eyes. They’re the happiest she’s ever seen them, like he’s found hope again. He studies her face desperately. If Izzy didn’t know any better, she’d think he was trying to memorize it.

“I’m surprised to see you here on a Friday, Mr. Gold.”

He gives her a half-grin. “I simply couldn’t wait.”

Izzy wonders what sort of day it is that he needs flowers so desperately. She searches for memory for anything important. She’s clung to the dates the way she clung to his flower choices; everything just seems so important. But there’s never been a day that makes him this happy. All of the dates with his wife - their anniversary, their first meeting, their first date, her birthday, the day she died – those days make him shrivel into himself. This is something different.

“There seems to be a newcomer to town, a Miss Emma Swan.” Gold stares at her intently. He looks her in the eyes despite always avoiding the eye contact before.

Izzy taps her fingers against the counter. She feels like Gold just said something important, like he’s telling her the secret to her happiness. And she wants to remember desperately but there’s nothing there. Just the beginnings of a headache.

“Belle?” He whispers the name like a prayer, speaking as reverently as he does when he’s talking about his wife.

Izzy’s confusion evaporates instantly. She wants to scream. He’s been here every week for years. She’s practically fallen in love with him and he doesn’t even know her name.

She points to her name tag far more aggressively than strictly necessary. “Izzy. My name is Izzy. Not even my father calls me Isabelle anymore, and no one’s ever called me Belle.”

He steps away from the counter like he’s been burned. “Of course, Izzy. I didn’t mean anything- I just…”

She’s seen him lose his focus before, heard his sentences trail off in a million difference ways. But this time feels different. In the past, Izzy knew exactly where the pain was coming from, a small grave covered in flowers and books, a life half-lived and a grieving family. She understands that sort of pain. She’s prepared flowers for every funeral in Storybrooke since her own mother’s. This pain is something completely different.

When Gold leaves just as quickly as he came, Izzy can’t help but feel like it’s her fault. When he doesn’t come to the shop on Tuesday, her guilt grows.

On Wednesday, Izzy leaves her father in charge of the shop (It is after all his shop even if it would be bankrupt without her. He can handle a few hours.) She grabs the bouquet of roses and marches toward main street. She figures it’s late enough that Gold will have dropped Gideon off at school and returned to his shop.

Izzy pauses outside, the sudden reality of the situation hitting her. She has never entered his domain before, even when the show windows contain something that piques her interest. Their friendship has always been a fragile thing, stolen hours when a broken man allows himself to be seen. It didn’t seem fair to force that sort of thing on him. But still, even though Gold knows nothing about her, she can’t let him run away from this. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. Izzy forces herself to push the door open.

“I’ll be with you shortly“ Gold exits his backroom at the sound of the bells, but he stops dead in his tracks when he sees exactly who his new customer is. Clearly he hadn’t expected to see her. Part of her wants to laugh at the comical look of shock on his face, but she’s far too nervous for that.

“I thought you would want these.” She holds up the flowers weakly.

“Izzy.” This time it’s her name that’s said like a prayer, like it’s something special, like she’s special.

“I didn’t like where we left things last week.” Her voice is small and hesitant. She wishes she’d thought this through more. Izzy had just acted.

“I didn’t either. I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome back.”

Gold shifts his weight from side to side and she briefly wonders if that hurts his bum leg at all.

“Of course, you’re welcome back. What would we do without our number one customer?”

The smile he gives her doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would you like to stay for a while? I have tea in the back.”

Izzy agrees without hesitation, because even though there’s something new between them, this is what she’s always wanted.

Tea comes more often after that and the conversations get easier. Izzy hears him laugh for the first time at a silly joke she made, and it feels like there might be a chance for them after all. They talk about everything, books, music, art, but the conversation always swings back around to Gideon. The boy is eight and the brightest part of his father’s world. Gold seems desperate to share every bit of Gideon’s life with her. She learns how much he loves history and sleeping in dinosaur footed pajamas, how he only eats his sandwiches with the crust cut off and how he follows around Henry Mills like he’s a prince.

"He’s a good kid." Izzy remarks after hearing another of the boys’ fantastical adventures.

"Remarkable considering who raised him."

She doesn't know why she leans toward him, but Izzy cups his cheek like she's done it a million times before. "You know as well as I do that there’s always the possibility to be better than our parents. Their actions do not define us.”

The earthquake shook the flower shop. Only a few of the vases were broken, so overall not too bad. Izzy would have been able to go about her day if it hadn’t been for Gold bursting in looking out of his mind with worry.

“Gideon. He’s gone. I can’t find him.” The poor man is close to hyperventilating, barely keeping himself upright. “I can’t lose him. I can’t do this again.”

Izzy hugs him tightly to her and kissing his head. She takes the keys from him and helps usher him to the Cadillac. She can’t explain the ache that’s going through her own body. Every inch of her feels like its screaming, but she needs to be the calm one for this. Izzy drives to the newly formed sinkhole on the edge of town. The crowd is already fairly large. Sheriff Graham and his new deputy are already hard at work trying to find a way to rescue Dr. Hopper, Henry and his little shadow, Gideon.

Despite her small stature, Izzy can’t find a hole small enough to sneak through. She knows it’s dangerous, but she would gladly contort her body into whatever shape necessary just to get her son back. No her mind corrected. Gold's son. All the stories in the world don’t make you his mother. You've only met the boy a few times. You need to stay strong for him. He's already lost one child; he can't lose another. Izzy doesn’t know where that last thought came from. Gold never told her about another son, but she knows. She’s never been more certain of anything.

So Izzy cradles him and whispers soothing words as they wait. She asks the necessary questions when it’s clear Gold’s worry for his son makes him more prone to violence toward the mayor than usual. Something neither of them need, because for once they’re on the same side.

When Emma is hoisted the last few feet out of the elevator shaft, two scared boys clinging to her, Gold’s face is positively alight with love for his son. Gold must not be thinking about his own limitations, because he runs and picks up the boy like he’s still a small child, cradling him close and peppering his face with kisses.

Izzy tries to stand as close as she can without intruding on the moment. This is not her family as much as she longs for it to be. Gold has a wife. Yes she lies in a cemetery with flowers Izzy helped pick out, but there’s no doubt in Izzy’s mind that Gold still loves his wife. Izzy can’t replace her, and she fears how much she wants to. Even now, despite not knowing him, Izzy longs to embrace Gideon too, to check over every inch of his body to make sure he is truly okay.

Maybe one day, they can be a family, she thinks to herself as she trudges back to the car. One day she’ll be worthy to stand in his wife’s footsteps. But for now, Izzy counts herself lucky she gets to stand so close, lucky for tea with Mr. Gold and stories of Gideon.

#rumbelle showdown 2020 #round three entry #author: porcelain elephants #rumbelle fic

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rumbelleshowdown · 5 years ago

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Author: Bingo Balls

Prompt: Insects at night, bubble bath, Victorian

Group: C

A Mating Ritual

Book in hand Belle took her usual route to the grand hall preparing for her nightly tradition of reading by the fire, as Rumpelstiltskin spun absentmindedly at his wheel. As she passed the French doors leading out to the gardens, she spotted several fireflies fluttering about as their warm light radiated under the starry night sky. Hastily she placed her book down on the nearest windowsill, as she made her way outside into the crisp spring night air.

Completely entranced by the dramatic rise and fall of blinking lights around her, she jumped as an unexpected inquisitive voice rang out behind her.

“What are you doing?”

Startled by his voice, she soon smiled at him, pleasantly aware that he must have come looking for her when she wasn’t at her customary spot by the fireplace. The fact that he was concerned enough to look for her made her heart beat a tad faster.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked gazing up at the twinkling sparkles. “Don’t you love fireflies?”

He responded with a careless shrug. “Could be worse I suppose.” He looked at her scrunching his nose in distaste. “It could be fairies.”

Rolling her eyes she shook her head at the jest before returning her attention to the nocturnal spectacle of beauty before her. “Well I think it’s beautiful,” she pronounced with a tonality of authority. “Little flickers of light amidst an ocean of darkness.”

Peeping out the corner of her eye, she noted a crinkle of his cheek, as if he was biting down a smile. Saddened that he still felt the need to hide such emotion from her, she felt an uncontrollable need to chip away at the dark façade that he had so carefully constructed.

“You know I once tried to catch as many fireflies as I could in a jar when I was a child. I had the brilliant notion that I could place them next to my bed, and use them as a reading light.”

He let out a loud huff of laughter, looking at her with an air of amusement. “With as long as I have seen you sit and read for, you would have needed to catch a swarm of them, dearie.”

Her stomach flipped at the small victory of seeing him smile.

“Well I made it up to eight in the jar, before very proudly going to show my mother what I had accomplished.”

The moment she finished the sentence, a raw rush of longing swiped the cheerful smile from her face. She had rarely spoken of her mother since she passed, and with one brief memory of her, an overwhelming sense of grief took her . Looking down for a moment, she tried to compose herself, blinking back tears that threatened to fall, when she heard him gently say her name.

“Belle.”

Taking a deep breath she prepared to be met with a pair of scrutinizing eyes for her abrupt foolish display of emotion, but what she saw when she looked up took her breath away.

Depths of understanding and tenderness woven delicately together filled his consoling eyes. She felt as if she was looking at a kindred spirit, one that had also experienced a great loss and still mourned it.

Gently he moved his hand tucking a stray curl behind her ear, causing her cheeks to blush at the gesture. Quite noticeably she stared at his lips for far too long, before turning her attention back to his eyes. For a fleeting moment, she saw a look of temptation in them, before he nervously stumbled back away from her.

Coughing into his hand, he soon squared his shoulders back, resuming control of their conversation.

“So did you read by firefly light that night?”

“No,” she shook her head, pausing for a moment. “I let them all go. I guess you could say love won out in the end.”

He looked at her with utter confusion. “What does love have to do with it?”

Smiling, she pointed towards the fireflies. “What you see before you is a mating ritual.”

His eyebrows shot up quickly clearly surprised by the revelation.

“You see when I showed my mother the jar, she explained why a firefly lights up the way it does. All of these random blinking patterns that you see here are male fireflies blinking their own unique special pattern in an attempt to attract a mate.”

Pointing to some nearby bushes she continued her explanation.

“The female fireflies wait in the wings and observe all the flashing patterns. When they see one that they like, they flash the same pattern back inviting their chosen mate to come over.”

“Interesting,” he hummed bringing his hand up under his chin as if in deep contemplation, before flinging his finger up in the air in a flamboyant motion. “I’ll get the bug spray.”

Grabbing his arm she dug her fingers into his flesh. “Don’t you dare, Rumpelstiltskin.”

His chest rumbled with a low hearty chuckle as he willingly stayed in place. Satisfied that he was merely joking, she loosened her grip around his arm, but felt no true desire to let go. Slowly she slid her arm through his, carefully noting the rapid rise and fall of his chest as she did so.

Arm in arm they watched in a starlit silence the whimsical flow of the mating ritual. Her breath hitched as his fingers absentmindedly stroked the outside of her hand.

“You know I can make you a jar big enough to catch them all. Illuminate your library with a brightness envied by the sun,” he spoke in dreamy lull.

Touched by his offer, she had no doubt that his magic could make it happen, but gently she shook her head no. “It seems so cruel to capture something and lock it away forever. How would they ever find their one true love…their happily ever after?”

His body stiffened at her words. The romantic temperament of their surroundings shifted to a heavy air of tension, as he moved himself rigidly away from her.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

Confused, she took a step towards him, trying to fill the growing gap between them.

“Who?” she inquired, having not the slightest idea of whom he was referring to.

“Why your one true love, your betrothed,” he snipped in a cold tone.

Stunned by the assumption, it took her a moment to collect her thoughts.

Did she miss Gaston? Ever since she had made her deal with Rumpelstiltskin two months ago, she had missed a great many things. She had missed her bed and her favorite books, but then Rumple had gifted her with the library, and the coziest bed that she had ever laid upon, and any longing she once felt drifted away in a sea of contentment.

Of course she missed her father, and thought of him every day, but she surmised she would have had the same feelings of homesickness once she was forced to marry and move away with Gaston.

Truth be told, she hadn’t given her betrothed, a second thought, since coming to the Dark Castle. She wondered for a brief moment if she should feel guilt for forgetting about Gaston so quickly. Instead of longing for him she felt relief that she had escaped a life that undoubtedly would have resulted in an unfulfilling unhappy marriage.

Although Belle knew a proper lady would never give voice to these dark confessions, her heart yearned for Rumple to know the truth of her feelings.

“No. I don’t miss him at all.”

His head snapped quickly, his furrowed brow a telltale sign that it was not the response he had been expecting. For a moment she was afraid she had spoken to freely, biting her lip to stop her foolish tongue from saying anything more.

He stood motionless, his still features giving no indication to his opinion on the matter. Then after a few agonizing moments of a nail biting silence, a true natural smile of elation bloomed across his lips. Her heart fluttered, urging her to confess more, specifically her burgeoning feelings for him. Just as she mustered enough courage to act upon it, a sudden prick of pain pierced her left calf.

“Oww!” she exclaimed, bending over to run her hand against her leg. “I think something bit me.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed moving to position himself firmly behind her. “There is a lesson here.”

Her thoughts became tainted with a warm rush of desire, as he pressed the front of his body against her back.

“Although there is beauty out here, never forget the carnivorous appetite that the night can also bring.”

Pulse racing she felt the tickle of his breath as he purred in her ear.

“Creatures of darkness want nothing more than a taste of your sweet flesh, Belle.”

She hungered to know what his mouth would feel like on her now overheated skin. She almost asked him for it, when another sting, this time on her arm, forced a hiss of pain from her mouth.

He pulled away at the sound of her discomfort and she immediately missed the feel of his solid warmth behind her.

“It appears fireflies aren’t the only insects that have returned tonight. You need to get inside dearie, before they devour you alive.”

She wanted to protest, continue whatever it was that was happening between them, but as another small prick hit her leg, she knew the mood for romance had passed. Without a word, she turned, heading back towards the French doors.

“Wait.”

His voice halted her, as she looked back at him. There was a pink swirl of magic followed by a small blue vile in his hand.

“There is a warm bath waiting for you in your chambers. Pour this into it. Your arms and legs will thank you by morning.”

Quietly she took the vile. Walking back she stopped at the threshold glancing back at him over her right shoulder. He stood stoic, his hands tightly gripped behind his back, as fireflies danced behind him like frozen fireworks.

For a moment her heart imagined a scenario of running back into his arms, of confessing her growing feelings of love, but her mind knew that this mating ritual would be more complicated than that. Silently she headed back to her chambers to take her bath.

As she finished scrubbing the last dinner plate, a random flash of light outside the kitchen window caught her attention. Glancing toward the stairs she heard the bath water running. Surmising she still had a few minutes before Rumple would finish preparing her bubble bath, she swiftly made her way out the back door of their pink Victorian home to investigate.

A familiar glittery sight hovered before her. Giddy with the knowledge that the land without magic did in fact have fireflies, Belle moved further out onto the patio to observe their flight. Lost in the beauty of their glimmering lights, it took a moment to notice when the fireflies started moving in a more choreographed motion. Before she knew it they had formed a perfectly shaped twinkling heart right before her eyes.

Astounded, she soon turned suspicious as she peered over her shoulder to see Rumple standing in the doorway, his fingers moving gracefully as he stroked the night air with his magic.

Turning her attention back to the heart, she soon felt his warm hands on her hips as he planted himself firmly behind her. His moist lips kissed her temple, as he uttered in her ear.

“Flickers of light amidst an ocean of darkness.”

Turning in his arms, she looked up at him surprised. “You remember that?”

“I remember every moment with you,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. Turning her head slightly into his touch she laid a feathery kiss on his knuckle as the twinkling heart once again caught her eye.

“That is quite an impressive pattern you made Mr. Gold. Are you in search of a mate tonight?”

“Indeed I am,” he spoke with a gleam of mischief in his eyes .

Lifting up on her toes, her lips met his in a passionate but all too brief kiss.

“I better go before my bath gets too cold,” she said, patting his chest, as she slid from his arms. Stopping in the doorway she looked back at him.

They had come so far from their time in the enchanted forest. Although their mating ritual took a bit longer than expected, they eventually found each other in the end.

“Care to join me?” she called out with a twinkle in her eye. With a crooked grin, his eyes lit up at her invitation, as he bowed his head in acceptance before quickly following his mate inside.

#rumbelle showdown 2020 #round three entry #author: bingo balls #rumbelle fic

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rumbelleshowdown · 5 years ago

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Author: Bingo Balls

Prompt: Deep inside the forest

Group: A

The Price

When she used the excuse of taking a walk that morning to avoid having breakfast with her betrothed, Belle had never intended to stumble upon a hungry man making a deal with the fabled Dark One deep inside the forest. Any person of sound mind would have turned around, pretended to not have heard the Dark One barter magic seeds in exchange for a lifetime of servitude, but Belle could not live with the guilt of walking away when she knew she could help.

“Do the brave thing,” she mumbled to herself, as she burst onto the scene, catching the man and Dark One off guard. Without a moment of hesitation, she unfastened her jeweled necklace, holding it out to the desperate soul.

“Take it, please,” she begged. “It has no value to me truly. It was an unwanted gift. It will feed your family for years. You don’t have to make this deal.”

The man’s bewildered gaze darted from a stunned Dark One back to her offering, his hand slowly reaching out to take the necklace.

“Thank you my lady.”

“No thanks are necessary. Now go home to your family.”

Nodding, the man turned to leave as the Dark One’s stern voice rang out into the cold forest air.

“Wait!” The Dark One instructed, as the peasant halted in place.

“Our deal may be null and void but I did use magic to get here, and all magic comes with a price. The Dark One spread his hand onto his chest. “Do you expect me to pay it?”

“Well…I...I…” the cowering man stuttered as Belle positioned herself in front of him.

“I will pay the price for this magic.”

Silently nodding, the Dark One looked over her shoulder, throwing the bag of seeds towards the man. “It appears our business is concluded, now go!” he commanded with a sneer.

Wordlessly Belle watched the man flee into the forest never looking back.

A manic glee cut through the air, filling her heart with dread. Now alone, she felt her once budding courage withering away like days old flowers as his hot breath tickled the back of her neck.

“You are either very brave or very stupid my girl,” he hissed.

Closing her eyes, she asked the question that frightened her so. “ What is the price I will have to pay?”

“What are you willing to give me, dearie?” he purred in her ear.

She would not let this monster take anything more than she was willing to give. Mother had always taught her to never back down to a bully. With a heart full of determination she turned quickly, finding his face mere inches away from hers. She lifted her chin ready to give him a piece of her mind, but was taken aback when the dark one clumsily lost his footing falling away from her. He quickly tried to recover, but she saw a blush rise to his green cheeks.

So this was the ever fearsome Dark One she had read so much about? Flailing around like a shy schoolboy? A surge of confidence and curiosity compelled her to move towards him. “Why did you give that man those seeds?”

He wobbled for a moment unsure of his footing before walking around her with a wide berth, as she continued to question him. “Why still give him the seeds? The deal wasn’t complete. You didn’t get what you wanted.”

“Well that remains to be seen,” he spoke faintly, his back now towards her.

Realization dawned on her.

“He didn’t have to pay the price for the magic, did he?”

The Dark One turned with a look of smugness on his face. “Of course not. I never said he did. I merely asked if he thought I should pay it. I pay the price all the time. My mere presence is never a condition of my deals. But when you so valiantly volunteered to pay it, how could I refuse.”

She crossed her arms sighing in resignation that she had been bested. For a moment her wounded pride threatened to erupt into a tantrum, but her selfless nature won out in the end.

“Well at least that man’s family will sleep with full bellies tonight.”

His brows furrowed together as if he was perplexed by her calm reaction. After a moment, his right cheek twitched, and Belle could have sworn that he was fighting not to smile. He lifted his hand in grand flourishment.

“He has the seeds dearie to feed his family. If you want to make a deal, I certainly can get your necklace back.”

“No.” Belle shook her head fiercely. “I meant it when I said it’s unwanted. It’s so gaudy and heavy. Trust me, it serves a far better purpose in that man’s hands then it ever would around my neck.”

“Ah,” the Dark One simply uttered. “A gift from an intended suitor then, is it?

“More like a leash to an arranged life, I suppose,” she muttered with a tone of melancholy in her voice.

He looked at her with a mixture of concern and awe. Silently she gazed back at him. The air suddenly felt warmer, and for a moment her breaths grew shallow. A sudden loud chirp of a bird, broke their connection, as the Dark One fumbled away from her. He pointed towards her neck.

“That one suits you better anyway.”

Belle let out a small chuckle, as she clutched the simple pearl that hung around her neck. “It was my mother’s.”

She smiled at him remembering the day her mother gave it to her.

“She use to tell me that the simplest things in life have the greatest beauty.”

“My Auntie use to say…” he stopped himself, clearly startled by his own words. She could tell he was flustered for a moment before the Dark One quickly regained control.

“Now Dearie, the time has come that we must discuss the matter of your price.”

Letting out a shaky breath, Belle squared her shoulders back, poised to negotiate a minimal payment, as the Dark One dipped his head and walked towards her like an animal stalking prey.

“The price is simple, I want a memory.”

“A memory?” she asked puzzled by the request.

“Yes. This one.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shrugged. “I very well can’t have a young maiden running around destroying my grand reputation as a deal maker now can I? I’m going to erase the memory of this encounter from your mind, dearie?”

“So I won’t remember any of this?”

“No.”

A strange mixture of disappointment and relief panged her heart. Out of everything he could have asked for, she knew he was letting her off easy, and yet she was disheartened by the notion of forgetting him. None the less, she agreed to his price.

He lifted his hand, his palm lightly grazing the top of her head.

“You will sleep, and when you wake you will be back home, with no memory of any of this.”

“It’s a shame I won’t remember you,” she confessed as she felt the tingle of his magic take effect.

“Yes, but I will remember you my dear.”

Her Blue eyes haunted him as he spun alone that night in an empty room, with an empty heart. For a brief moment that day he felt more man than monster, something he hadn’t felt since Bae. He decided then and there if their paths ever crossed again, he would have her.

#rumbelle showdown 2020 #rumbelle fic #Round One entry #author: Bingo Balls

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rumbelleshowdown · 5 years ago

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Author: Moose

Prompt: Can’t make tea; otherworldly delights; comfort

Group: A

Impish

It started with the tea. The water boiled, the bag sat oh so lovingly in the mug, and when it was left to brew it looked a proper tea-like color. Perfectly normal.

Belle liked her tea with milk. Just a splash. Just enough to make the dark brown liquid, well, milky. No lemon. Obviously. That was the first thing everyone learned, wasn’t it? Add a lemon to milky tea and you’ll have a curdled mess. She didn’t particularly like lemons anyway, didn’t even use them for the handful of recipes she knew how to cook.

And yet every time Belle added milk, her tea would curdle. Not right away. Belle could stir in her splash, watch it swirl and become deliciously milky. But on her first sip; disaster. Globs of milk like peeling paint, floating in her mug.

Her solution had been to stop adding milk. She was adaptable.

The timer was set. The tea brewed.

It was bitter; almost rancid on her tongue. There wasn’t enough sugar in her cupboards to cover a taste like that. Defeated, Belle poured the ruined tea down the sink, where every other cupful had gone since moving into the old victorian two weeks ago.

Maybe there was something in the water. Belle’s new pink house was quite old; perhaps the pipes needed updating. As much as she didn’t like the idea of another expense, she wanted safe drinking water more. She’d call about a plummer on Monday.

Belle slid an empty box out of her way with her foot. A cup of tea after finally unpacking all of her things would have been exactly what her day needed, but it was not to be. She’d settle for her books instead.

The library had been the first room she set up. It was thrilling, finally having her own library. The shelves were tall and made of dark wood that blended well with the antique furniture that had come with the house, perfect for the odd houseplant or two. Her pride and joy was her reading nook. It was straight out of her childhood fantasies: plush cushions on a window seat that overlooked a garden, complete with attached side table and blankets.

Would she read that book about penguins Arial had recommended, or would she reach for the new Mal Burns novel that she bought before the move? Pushing open the door, she took in the sight of her library, unable to keep the smile from blooming across her face. Slowly, she walked by the shelves. She wanted something familiar tonight, something comfortable. Her Handsome Hero would do nicely.

When Belle reached the right shelf, she paused. Looked again. The worn blue cover wasn’t there. She looked at the shelf next to it. The one above, below. Nowhere to be seen.

She let out a beleaguered sigh. First no tea, and now no Her Handsome Hero. Belle grabbed a book at random and curled up on the window seat anyway. She was adaptable, after all.

xxx

Belle awoke with her face pressed into the woven fabric of a throw pillow, the linen hot against her cheek. It was dark, and it took her a long moment to remember she was in her library. She moved her arm, hanging off the side of the bench, cold. On close inspection, her feet were cold too. She sighed, trying to unbunch the blanket that she’d pulled up to her shoulders with her knees. It was a small thing, meant for her lap, so just as well she was a small person.

Something heavy fell off the table across the room, the loud thud hardly muffled by the rug. The rug did nothing to muffle the swear.

Belle’s eyes shot open. That voice was not hers.

She had left a light on, she remembered. She had fallen asleep with a lamp shining over her shoulder. The light was out now.

Belle swallowed, straining her ears for any other noise, any clue, as to who was there or what they wanted.

Time stretched. She sat up, the blanket pooling in her lap. Soundlessly she felt around for anything close to her. Her hand landed on the book she had fallen asleep with. Her fingers curled around the edges, gripping tightly.

A creak in the floorboard broke the silence and without pausing to think, Belle threw the book in the direction of the sound. Books were friends, not projectiles, but she was desperate and desperate people made do.

She hit her target - something yelped in surprise.

Belle dove for the lamp, turning it on with a click. The light filled the room, illuminating her intruder. It was not a man.

He was man-shaped, at least, and had the expected number of arms and legs. His hair was a wild mane, his skin like a toad’s, a dull grey-green that shimmered in the lamplight. He bared his teeth at her, and she wasn’t sure if they were sharp, or if the stains and rot made them look like it.

Unconsciously, Belle took a step closer. His eyes looked as if they had a sun-shaped iris, the pupil wide and dark. It was striking.

“What are you?” she breathed.

He took a step back

“What are you, other than rude?” His voice was high and throaty. “Throwing things at people is no way to act, dearie.”

“I wasn’t the one skulking around while I was sleeping.”

“No, you don’t skulk,” he agreed, his smile a sharp, humorless thing. “You stomp around in the daytime like some elephant.”

“I do not stomp!”

“You’re thunderous. Keeps me awake.”

Belle gaped at him, mouth open and speechless. This was a dream, had to be a dream. She’d wake up for real, any minute now, and chalk it all up to an overactive imagination. There was no way this thing was actually there.

Calling him a thing seemed rude. What exactly was he anyway?

“Are you a vampire?” she asked suddenly. She hadn’t noticed any bruising around her pulse points lately but the point of vampirism wasn’t to be noticable.

His lip curled in disgust. “Never had a taste for blood.”

“A demon?” she asked. “Vengeful spirit?” Was her house haunted? That was an exciting possibility. An actual haunted house!

He twittered, shaking his head back and forth. Belle studied him closer in the lamp light. His pants looked leather, his shirt smooth like silk, the collar frilly. He already said he wasn’t a vampire, though.

“What, then, some sort of bogart? An imp?” She waved her hand at the lamps. “Waiting for me to stub my toe in the dark?”

“I thought you humans preferred to sleep in the dark. I’ll turn all the lights on, next time.”

Belle bit her lip to hide the smile. He’d probably think she was laughing at him. Which, okay, maybe she was. But he sounded so petulant, like a little kid who wasn’t congratulated for cleaning up all his toys.

“Fine, don’t tell me what you are. At least tell me what you’re doing in my house.”

His nose was pointy, like a beak, only becoming more prominent as he frowned at her. “It’s my house, dearie. You’re the one invading.”

“Oh.”

The old victorian had been cheap; cheap enough that Belle didn’t have to think twice about leaving her shitty studio apartment in the city to move to a small town. Cheap enough that she hadn’t asked why. An oversight, clearly.

Looking at the strange man with the leather trousers and wild hair, she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret it.

“I’m not in a position to leave,” Belle said slowly. “I’m actually really quiet, I promise. Or I will be now, since all the boxes are finally unpacked.”

The creature rolled his eyes, bending down to pick up the book she had thrown at him. “Escape in the Moonlight,” he read. “‘The tale of Aumbry and her secret love affair with the village shepherd. Will love win out, or will she be forced into a loveless marriage?’” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Your taste in books is lacking.”

“My taste is impeccable.”

She expected him to perhaps hand the book back to her. She reached out to accept it, but instead, he waved his hand and the book vanished in a puff of smoke.

Belle gaped at him. “You! You’ve been stealing my books!”

He sniffed, completely unrepentant. “Call it rent.”

“I’m not paying rent on a house I own!”

“I told you, it’s my house!”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “Do you even read them?”

He shrugged. He stepped toward her, one finger running over the spines on the shelves as he did. “You have so many, and I’m so bored. There’s little harm in borrowing a few, is there?”

She frowned at him, annoyance clear on her face. He stalked closer, trying to intimidate her. Well, that wasn’t going to work, not when it was her prized possessions on the line. Belle didn’t react except to put a hand on her hip, and standing as tall as her diminutive height allowed, never breaking eye contact.

“Yes, alright, I’ll give them back when I’m done with them,” he grumbled, pulling his hand back from her books.

“Well. Good. You’ll have to tell me what you think of Gidion’s story.” Belle felt awkward standing there, still in the clothes she was wearing the day before. What time was it, anyway? She bent to pick up the blanket from where it lay in a heap. “And whether that sword fight was justified or not.”

The creature gasped, putting a hand on his chest as if affronted. “Spoilers, dearie!”

Belle laughed.

The thing tilted his head, his large eyes watching her with an unreadable expression. “You’re an odd girl,” he murmured.

“So I’ve been told.” Still smiling, she folded the blanket before dropping it on the cushions. “Now then, would you like some - well, not tea. I still have some biscuits, I think. But I’ve been having trouble with the tea.”

“That so,” he giggled, feigning interest in the shelf again. “How odd.”

Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. Something clicked.

“My books weren’t enough, you had to go after my tea too?” She felt like throwing something else. Perhaps him. Out the window.

“You never made a cup for me. That’s not very neighborly.” He looked at her sideways, those strange eyes dancing.

She wasn’t dealing with some trickster imp. He was clearly just a dick.

Mourning for all her lost tea, she asked, “If I make you some, will you stop ruining it?”

He sent her a pout. “I ruin everything, dear.” And then with a snap, he was gone. He left behind him only a small puff of smoke that smelled like the forest after a rainfall.

Belle rubbed her eyes, exhausted all at once. This either meant she had a roommate or a landlord, depending on if the thing about rent was a quip or not. At least he didn’t seem intent on driving her out, for now. Maybe they could learn to coexist.

Coexist. With a goddamn imp.

Belle shook her head at herself. What she needed was a cup of tea, and maybe she’d be successful now she knew what was sabotaging her. Perhaps he was bored of that particular game. She made her way down the stairs to the kitchen. Everything was how she had left it. Filling the kettle, she set it on to boil.

The teacup she had used earlier was still on the counter, and after a quick rinse was ready for round two. Remembering her offer, Belle pulled another one from the cupboard.

“One more thing, dearie,” said a voice in her ear.

With a yelp, Belle startled and dropped the teacup. It fell to the kitchen floor, hitting the tile. She spun around, now face to face with the imp.

“Tea again? My, you are persistent.”

“I’m an optimist,” Belle snapped, trying to calm her racing heart through sheer force of will.

He was very close. Close enough that she could feel his breath on the side of her face, could make out the embroidered detail of his waistcoat - gold thread in the form of thistles and dandelions.

“What do you want?” she asked, when he continued to stare at her.

“You intend to stay here, in this place.”

Belle couldn’t tell if it was a question. She nodded.

He hummed, the sound vibrating around Belle’s ears. “The thing is, dearie, this here is prime real estate, and you’re here unlawfully.”

“I signed the housing contract -“

“Ah, but you didn’t sign one with me.”

Belle licked her lips. She watched his eyes follow the movement. “Are my books not enough after all?”

“Perhaps they would be, if I were allowed to keep them.” The imp swept his arms out, as if he were making her a grand offer.

“No,” she said, firm.

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to offer me some other worldly delights,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes wide and cavernous.

Belle tried to step back, away from his searching eyes, but the counter was behind her, boxing her in. She took a deep breath, summoning all her bravery.

“What’s your price?”

He leaned back, slightly. “Your name.”

Belle’s mouth opened in surprise. This wasn’t an imp, nor vampire. “You’re a fairy!” she cried.

“What? No!”

“A fairy!” Belle was bursting with questions. Were there other fairies, here or in the town, or was he the only one? He was fixated on the house - was there a fairy ring inside, somehow, that he was protective of? She remembered the garden, upkept even as the house stood empty for so long. Perhaps there was magic there, in the flowers and bushes that lined the property.

“As if those gnats knew the first thing about home ownership,” he said with forced patience. “Your name, dear.”

She paused. In all the stories, it was known that names had power, and that giving it freely gave the fae power over you.

“You can call me Rose.”

His lip twitched, his eyes narrowed. If Belle had to guess, she’d say he was amused but not surprised.

“Funny, you don’t look like a Rose,” he said.

“What should I call you?” she asked quickly when he straightened.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” he said with a giggle. Before she could press further, he snapped, and in another puff of earthy-smelling smoke, he was gone.

Belle huffed in annoyance at his hasty exit, but she wasn’t too worried. She had a feeling she’d see him again, perhaps when he decided to move all her furniture two inches to the left.

She bent to pick up the cup still lying on the tile. “Oh, shoot,” she muttered. The rim had a chip.

#rumbelle showdown 2020 #round three entry #author: Moose #rumbelle fic

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